


Nacht

by batzulger



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Doc Savage - Kenneth Robeson, The Shadow (Pulp)
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Mystery Character(s), Pulp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-03
Updated: 2015-06-03
Packaged: 2018-04-02 17:07:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 41,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4067857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/batzulger/pseuds/batzulger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1930s New York and an out of time slayer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nacht

**Author's Note:**

> All recognizable characters are property of their creators and holders of their copyright.

**Chapter One**

I was walking down an alley with my trench coat pulled tight around me to block out the cold. My fedora was pulled low to keep my face in shadow, but my lack of tallness is pretty distinctive unfortunately.  
  
"Fraulein Nachtjaeger!" a voice called out from behind me.  
  
"Never heard of her!" I called back. I didn't even bother turning; I was too busy marking out what the battlefield would look like. Alley that dead-ended in a twelve foot high sheer brick wall, lots of trashcans...they called them ashcans now, two fire escapes. The drop ladder kind, not the swing down. Good, I could work with this.  
  
"Fraulein, you have nowhere to run to..."  
  
I stopped two feet from the brick wall blocking my way. I still didn't turn around. I did unbelt my trench coat and undo the buttons however; keeping my movements small and subtle so the voice's owner couldn't pick up on my plans. Which to use, gun or knife? Now that was the question.   
  
"What do you want?" I asked still facing the wall. I could hear three behind me, and at least one more up on one of the fire escapes. The one on the fire escape was big. Or at least heavier than an average human judging by the groan of the metal as he or she shifted their weight.  
  
"Just to talk Fraulein," his English was excellent. "Nothing more."  
  
"You're by yourself right?"  
  
"Uff course," he could lie really well too. "Why would I need associates here for a simple chat?"  
  
"Very true," I replied. There was another faint creak from the fire escape. One of his non-existent associates was adjusting their position. "What do you want to talk about?"  
  
"You are not Deutsch or Austrian, but your name is. Why is this so?"  
  
"Someone gave it to me and I liked the sound of it. 'Nighthunter' is a pretty neat name. Don't you think?"  
  
"Who gave it to you?"  
  
"One of your buddies I think. Nasty bloodsucking Nazi named Mueller or Moller? Anyway he called me that when he thought he had me trapped. Said I was an amateur Nachtjaeger...then I broke both his arms and tore his head off with my bare hands. Oops?" I turned finally and faced the voice's owner, slipping out of my trench coat as I turned. I had drawn my big Bowie knife and held it lightly reversed in my left hand, the blade flat against the back of my arm. My pistol was still snug in its shoulder holster.  
  
The guy in the black leather trench with the monocle was the only one visible at street level. Two more of the pseudo-vamps like Mueller or Moller or whatever his name was were clinging high on the walls. The big guy on the fire escape wasn't exactly human either.  
  
Their plan was pretty obvious; Get me to move towards Talky-Tina, then big guy drops down behind me and fake-vamps hit me from the sides.  
  
"A weapon Fraulein?" Talky-Tina sounded stupidly calm as he gestured at my pistol. Oh of course he did, he had all the cards...so sad to break it to him that he was toast.  
  
"Well yeah? It's a dangerous world out there. You wouldn't expect a young woman such as myself not to carry protection would you?" I tried to sound as offended as possible.  
  
"My pardon Fraulein Nachtjaeger, I did not mean to offend." He actually sounded apologetic.  
  
"Could I have your name? I don't want to keep saying 'Hey You' or anything like that," I asked. Big guy above was getting ready to jump down. I was still about fifteen feet from Talky-Tina.  
  
"Queren. My name is Queren."  
  
"Okay Herr Queren," I was now ten feet away, "Nice to meet you."  
  
"What's that?" he said almost distractedly as he spotted my knife's grip in my hand. He was distracted because his associate was in the process of jumping down behind me.  
  
"More protection..."  
  
I leaped to one side as the behemoth tried to pound me. He was big and furry. Like a human fused with a bear. Actually, that's probably exactly what he was. I grabbed a trash...I mean ash can in passing, and jammed it over his head before kicking him in the baby bear. Fake-vamp one was in the mix now, as he dropped down almost from directly above me. I spun away from those nasty sharp claws of his and cut his belt with the tip of my knife. It's hard to be a badass with your pants around your ankles.  
  
Fake-vamp two was the next to check in. He was stronger than an experienced vamp from back home, but a lot wimpier than a Master. He did know how to fight though. I was block, block, blocking until I could maneuver him under one of the fire escape ladders, then I jumped up and dragged it down on top of his bald bloodthirsty head.  
  
Talky-Tina...I mean Queren had drawn some kind of pistol that was all sparks and gears. I threw my knife into it before I could find out whether it had a 'Julienne Slayer' setting or not. There was a pretty good bang and a cloud of smoke from the impact.  
  
I turned to see a really POed bear-guy charging me. I took two short steps and handballed myself off the alley wall into a flying knee to the bear-guy's chin. He was tough enough that he didn't fall down, but he was shaking his head a lot at least. Fake-vamp one, a/k/a the pantless wonder, had finished kicking off the trousers and now wanted me D-E-D dead. Angry always makes stupid and he was a prime example.  
  
I tripped him, and grabbing the back of his head as he aimed towards the ground, pushed as hard as I could. There was a nasty popping sound as his face met concrete. His buddy slowed when he saw that little trick.  
  
"How?"  
  
"How could somebody my size do that, you mean? Clean living and ancient magic." I picked up the pantless wonder and threw his twitching body at fake-vamp two. By the time fake-vamp two had realized that I was right behind the flying body, he had developed a severe case of broken legs.  
  
I turned to face bear-guy. He was on one knee vomiting. I think I might have given him a concussion...maybe even fractured his skull and/or his jaw.  
  
"Aufgeben?" I asked.  
  
"Ja ja!" bear-guy raised one hand in the air as he was bracing against the wall with the other. He wasn't going anywhere fast. That was obvious. The two fake-vamps were also not much in the movement front except that the one I had performed shin removal surgery on was cursing me in German. I ignored them.  
  
Queren was lying sprawled on the ground; his hands a bloody mess where the gun had exploded. I picked up my knife and resheathed it then went to pick up my hat and coat.   
  
"Herr Queren, if you and your people operate in this city and I catch you...I will slay you. You tell your bosses that, 'kay?"  
  
He moaned softly in reply.  
  
I put my hat and coat back on and headed towards my job at the automat. That food wasn't going to cook itself after all.  


**Chapter Two**

After ducking into an alley to slip off my holster and sheath I headed towards work.  
  
"Heya Betty!"  
  
"Heya yourself Sally!" I called back at my co-worker, "How'd the date with that guy Paulie go?"  
  
"Not so good. He tried t'get a little fresh after the picture show."  
  
"Isn't that what I told you would happen?" Sally was a nice girl. Only sixteen and with a movie star body. I had made it my mission to keep creeps from dogging on her.  
  
"Yeah. I did that hold on the knuckle you showed me and he stopped all quick. Tried t'play it off."  
  
"Good. You're better than that."  
  
"Okay you two, I got dispensers needing stocking, dishes to be washed and customers to be smiled at. Get moving!" Moon Treadwell, our boss and the owner of Treadwell's Qwik-Eats, had stuck his head out from the office and done his standard pep-talk/rant. I had been working here for eight months and it never changed.  
  
For the next eight hours I ferried dishes to the dispensing wall, scrubbed tables, and helped Maxie, our cook, prep meals. Fortunately Moon didn't care if we ate on the job, so Sally, Maxie, and I always stuffed ourselves. It meant less we had to spend on groceries at least. The automat was only a block from Broadway, so Moon kept the kitchen open late on weekends to catch the theater crowd and performers after the last shows of the night. During the week though we shut down at midnight. Sally and I closed down the kitchen and Hank the nightman came on to keep an eye on the place.  
  
"Night Betty!"  
  
"Good night Sally!" Home in this time was a walk-up in Hell's Kitchen. Sighing, I dropped into a slow jog and headed west.  
  
Manhattan's streets at one in the morning, were just as quiet as in 1936 as they were noisy in 2010...especially on a cold November night. This was so not the place or the time, particularly the time, for me. I looked up at the cloudy sky. It still looked like the one over my Earth, but I knew it wasn't. I had no idea where I was, except on a world without a Sunnydale or the Council or vampires like I was used to. I hadn't seen any demons yet either.  
  
I made it home safely enough. The cold air was keeping the low-life types inside. It had been late-June 1935 when I had arrived and street crime was alive and well. That's how I had made my first supplies of cash after I had gotten here actually. Acting baity, and mugging would be muggers.   
  
I had made enough from that, along with re-appropriating the money from a dogfighting ring and a couple of bookies, to buy the building I had been renting an apartment in. It was a five story walk-up on 48th Street. After I had bought it, I had shifted my apartment to the entire fifth floor. Even though there were three separate doors in the hallway, only one of them wasn't blocked off. The three apartments were connected by strategically placed holes in the walls, and these holes were camouflaged by heavy bookcase or wardrobes.  
  
I locked my door and turned up my radiator. I worked at the automat to keep people from asking where I got my money. So far as the other tenants were concerned, the owner was some guy named Alexander Harris who lived in Pittsburgh and I was his niece, 'Betty Harris' from Juneau in the Alaska Territory who was helping him out for a break on the rent.   
  
Good thing about Alaska in 1936 is that most people didn't have a clue about it. Also it was easy enough to get a fake birth certificate and as the Social Security Act had just gone into effect, I now had a 'legitimate' SSN as well. I started the coffee pot going and slid the wardrobe aside to get into my second apartment.   
  
The first one was where I lived; this one was where I worked. The floor had as many rugs as I could find on it, to help muffle any noise from my movements. There was my work table with a couple of good lights, several bookcases, and a comfy thinking chair.  
  
The walls were covered with paper thumbtacked to it. I got pretty much every paper printed in New York every day. The New York Mirror and the Daily News were great sources for rumors of the weird. I never thought I would be research-girl voluntarily, but until I found out how and why I was here, nobody else was going to do it.  
  
I pulled out my switchblade and began cutting out stories...Mysterious Fire on the Docks...Madman Kidnaps Society Doll...Strange Theft at Museum of Natural History...Those were the kind of stories I was looking for.   
  
I knew there had to be magic in this world, otherwise I probably would have lost my powers, but like I said before, none of the players...Council, Demons, Wolfram and Hart...were in the game. Whatever had brought me here hadn't revealed itself yet and that was very annoying.  
  
I looked at the stories again. The museum looked promising. Old stuff in my line of work generally means dangerous in the wrong hands. Worth checking out. Plus it was in the late edition which meant it had relatively just happened.   
  
I filled my thermos full of coffee and stepping back into my workroom, slid the wardrobe back in place. I then crossed it and moved the bookcase hiding the entrance to my armory and equipment room in the third apartment. Sadly leather pants my size were difficult to come by in 1936, but jeans weren't. I had gotten several pairs and dyed them black. I also had found a supply of black turtlenecks and black silk scarves that fell off a truck in the Garment District. These, black gloves, and some high lace boots made up my sneaky times outfit. After changing, I slipped my shoulder holster back on and checked my pistol. It was a Colt .45 that I had picked up from one of the casinos.  
  
My thermos went into my shoulder bag along with some other odds and ends; I shrugged on my black trench-coat, and pulled my black fedora off the hat-rack. After sliding the bookcase back into place I opened the window on the second apartment and flipped up on to the roof, letting it close behind me. Then it was just a brisk run across the city.  
  
I arrived at the American Museum of Natural History at about two. I could see a number of police vehicles parked out front along with New York Police Commissioner Wainwright Barth. I was sitting on top of a telephone pole sipping my coffee and watching the fun. Slayer ears make for easy eavesdropping.  
  
"..so that was the only thing missing? A spittoon?"  
  
"An urn, Commissioner, not a spittoon. From Persia in the Sassanid period. Very rare," the guy replying was obviously a museum honcho. Tweed runs true.  
  
"Why?"  
  
  
"Well it was an unusual find. There was this elaborately painted jar along with two others with very odd contents."  
  
"Odd contents?"  
  
"Yes. They had cylinders made of rolled-up copper sheets. These cylinders held a single iron bar each. At the top, the iron rods were separated from the copper by bitumen stoppers and the cylinders fit snugly inside the opening of the urns."  
  
"Do you have pictures of these...urns, Director Humsbley?"  
  
"Of course, right this way," they headed inside the building.  
  
I tightroped along phone lines until I was next to the Museum then padded grapneled my way to the roof. Inside it was easy to find the executive offices as I had been in here before, just checking it out.  
  
Fortunately for us stealth types, 1930s electric lighting was pretty dim at the best of times and there were plenty of shadows to get our lurk on in. I slipped into the Director's reception area and continued to listen in from a position crouched under his secretary's desk.  
  
"...What kind of writing is this? Arabic?"   
  
"Perso-Arabic characters Commissioner, the language is known as Middle Persian that is why we believe this is from the Sassanid period. About 1300 to 1700 years ago."  
  
"Whew that's some old pottery. Any idea on what it says?"  
  
"The first line here is, 'The power of Angra Mainyu is contained by the blessings of Ahuru Mazda. Only those that can view through the lens of Atar...', Atar means holy fire, 'may see the reality'."  
  
"Ah whosit?"  
  
"The two elemental child forces of the Zurvanistic religion that the Sassanids followed. These were made before the coming of Islam to the region. Angra Mainyu was the destructive force, and Ahuru Mazda was the 'uncreated God' or upholder of truth. The rest of the writing past that line is gibberish."  
  
"So all it is ancient bushwa?"  
  
"I said they were rare Commissioner. As works of art alone they would be priceless."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Oh most certainly. They are almost flawless examples of the potter's art. Not a chip or crack on any of the three after over a thousand years."  
  
"Who would buy one?"  
  
"A museum or a very wealthy Orientalist. They would have a limited market that could appreciate their value."  
  
"Okay, I'll put the word out to all the museums in the northeast that these are missing, and I need the names of these Orientalist guys in the area that could afford something like this."  
  
"Of course Commissioner. I'll have them for you in the morning."  
  
"Thank you Director and good night." The two left the office walking right past me. When they were well down the hall I slipped into the Director's office through the transom above the locked door and checked out the pictures. Fortunately he had several different views so I borrowed a few of them.  
  
A theft involving relics of an ancient religion? This was so in my comfort zone.  


**Chapter Three**

I was home by six and asleep by six thirty. Waking up at around noon, I cleaned up and put on my street clothes, sad to say dresses were the order of the day, and headed off to the Hotel New Yorker.  
  
The man I had come to see was on his way out. Probably off to feed the pigeons.  
  
"Hi there Professor!"  
  
"Betty! It iz good to see you. I have been being careful. I promise."  
  
The Professor was a guy I had saved from being robbed a year back. He had insisted on buying me a cup of coffee and I kept an eye on him. He was tall and thin and in his 70s I think, but he was always moving, never slowing down. He was also incredibly smart about all kinds of stuff and had an eidetic memory.  
  
"I'm sure you have...and who's been feeding the pigeons at the cathedral at midnight?"  
  
His face drooped, "Late night feeding iz one of my few pleasures..." he looked so forlorn I laughed.  
  
"It's okay Professor. You got a minute?"  
  
"For you? Of courz," we headed down to our favorite diner. It didn't look like much but the food was terrific. After we got our coffee I handed the Prof the pictures.  
  
"Middle-Eaztern. Not Arabic...not exactly..."  
  
"Perso-Arabic."  
  
"Ahhh Middle Persia...how foolish of me," he looked at the other pictures, "Wait a moment, thiz iz a battery."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Yes, here is the anode and cathode...insulated of courz from each other. See in the copper anode? Those holes are for the electrolyte to flow this is iron correct? This bar here in the center?"  
  
"Yeah I think so."  
  
"It would make a fine cathode with an electrolyte of vitriol...sulphuric acid."  
  
"This is about 1500 years old..."  
  
"Yes and...? Hero created the first steam engine and the first vending machine almost two thousand years ago. Creativity and genius work without regards to when they should exist. I would stake my reputation that thiz iz a battery."  
  
"Sounds good enough for me."  
  
"Zo, where iz it?"  
  
"Stolen from the American Museum of Natural History."  
  
"And how are you involved my dear Betty?"  
  
"Got curious. Maybe I borrowed these pictures..."  
  
"Um hmm," he nodded, "Do you know what this says?"  
  
"First part is 'The power of Angra Manu is contained by the blessings of Aharu Mazda. Only those that can look through the lens of Atar can see the reality' pr something like that.  
  
"Atar? That sounds like Zoroastrianism," The Professor looked over the pictures again. "They worshipped through fire you know."  
  
"Actually I did know that. They called them Zurvan-somethings though."  
  
"Zurvan was a descendant of the original Zoroastrian church," the Prof said thoughtfully. "I read a book on the subject once."  
  
"So look through the lens of fire and see the reality?"  
  
The Prof pulled a pocket magnifying lens out and started looking carefully at the gibberish part, "Betty, I believe there iz a secret mezzage here. You can zee by the faint reflections thiz was a multiply glazed piece of pottery. It iz not unthinkable that under the right spectrum of light it would fluoresce...glow, in an unusual manner."  
  
I was catching on, "Like the flames from a specially made fire?"  
  
"Exactly. The right combination of minerals in the flames could do it, or a clever device to zimply scatter the spectrum acrozz it. You find the urn, and I will tell you what iz written on it."  
  
"Thanks Professor! I gotta go."  
  
"I will talk to you again zoon Betty, and please why won't you call me Nikola?"  
  
"Because that's your name," I replied as I slipped out the door.  
  
My next stop was the New York Daily News. I had a friend here too. I had pulled a pretty upset longshoreman off of him during an investigation of one of the dock strikes and who was really behind it.  
  
"Hey there Betty!" Clyde Burke was smart and obsessed with finding the dirt on politicians. Seeing as we were in New York during the Clutch Plague, there was always dirt to be found.  
  
"Hi Clyde, I need a favor."  
  
"Oh you do, do you? What's in it for me?"  
  
"I don't know yet actually. You'll get first dibs though."  
  
"Will it be interesting?"  
  
"Yeah, I think so."  
  
"Good enough. What's the question?"  
  
"What do you know about the Museum robbery last night?"  
  
He scratched his chin for a second in thought, "Three urns from Persia stolen. Two guards killed by a poison of some kind. The Commissioner himself got woken up for it."  
  
"What do the police think?" I asked.  
  
"That some crazy collector either took them, or paid to have them taken," he answered as he lit a cigarette.  
  
"What do you think?"  
  
"Stealing maybe, but murder? Also it was poison. That's a pretty queer way to take out some guards."  
  
"Ever heard of any other crimes like this?"  
  
Clyde grinned, "How did you know?"  
  
"I had a hunch."  
  
He pulled a piece of teletype paper from a drawer, "Just came over the wire. A Middle-Eastern book was taken from the Cornell University's rare books collection. A guard was poisoned in the process."  
  
"What was the book?"  
  
"Something to do with alchemy and religion. It was written in Persian if that helps any?"  
  
"It does. Any clues?"  
  
"Yeah, the thief was surprised and drew a sword before throwing some kind of smoke bomb and escaping in the confusion. He was swarthy and very quick, according to the guard."  
  
"This the same guard that was poisoned?"  
  
"Yep. Probably some kind of gas in the smoke."  
  
"Nasty and sneaky..."  
  
"You betcha. So why you so interested? Run out of hoods to beat up on?"  
  
"Not gonna tell you just yet."  
  
"But soon?"  
  
"Mayyybe...bye Clyde."  
  
I headed back to the Museum, There was some stuff I still needed to check out.

**Chapter Four**

Getting into the museum was as simple as paying the 'suggested' admission (a nickel!) and walking in. My destination was the Hall of the Ages of Man.   
  
As I suspected, Police Sergeant Theo Muldoon, Commissioner Barth's personal assistant, was pacing the hall looking annoyed.  
  
"Afternoon Sergeant," I said cheerily.  
  
"Well good afternoon to you Miss Harris," he replied after a moment of being startled. "What brings you here?" Muldoon was a big red headed guy with a perpetually slightly rumpled look. He was definitely more a 'doer' than a 'thinker'.  
  
I had met him at the automat, as he lived just off of Broadway and stopped by pretty frequently. he was pleasant enough, but this was the first time I was going to try to work him.  
  
"Getting educated. How about you?"  
  
"Work. All these dead things give m'the creeps."  
  
"Did somebody steal one of the elephants?"  
  
"Aw naw. Some pottery."  
  
"There was a theft?"  
  
"Keep it unner yer hat."  
  
"I hope nobody was hurt...Oh! Somebody was?"  
  
"Two of the security they keep on here were killed. Nasty business."  
  
"Where did it happen?"  
  
"In the vaults."  
  
"Well at least it didn't happen in the exhibit halls," I replied.  
  
"Very true Miss Harris. Well, I'd better get back down there. I just popped up fer some air."  
  
We made our goodbyes and he headed for an unmarked door. Naturally I followed him.   
  
Staying well back it was pretty easy to avoid being spotted as the back halls were cluttered with crates and stuff. Finally, Muldoon came to a door guarded by another cop who waved him through.  
  
From the snatches of conversation I heard, it sounded like the fingerprint guys and the photographers were about done so I figured I'd wait. Eventually they made their exit and the officer on guard resumed his bored position. I waited till he turned to look the other way, then rushed him and put him in a quick sleeper hold.   
  
After that, it was inside to do some quick scrapings on the plaster walls and the wooden beams. Maybe the Professor could figure out what the gas was or he might know somebody who could.  
  
Then, it was simply a matter of slipping out of the unmarked door, when my hearing told me the coast was clear.  
  
I headed back to the Hotel. The Professor was in the lobby reading a paper. "Betty! Twize in one day?"  
  
"Chemical analysis?"  
  
"I know a little, why?"  
  
"A poison gas was used during the robbery. I have samples of the residue."  
  
"And you would like to know what it iz? Not my field zadly. I do know zomeone that might be able to help you. A private conzultant."  
  
"Can I get the address?"  
  
"Of courz. You know thiz perzon will ask questionz?"  
  
"About why an automat attendant wants to have it analyzed? Yeah, I figured they would. I'll work something out."  
  
"I'm zure you will," the Professor pulled out a fountain pen and scribbled down the address on a piece of hotel stationary, "and there you are."  
  
"Thanks Professor!"  
  
"Don't mention it," he returned to his paper.  
  
I headed over to my storage garage just off of 3rd Avenue. I needed to change my 'Betty' outfit into something a little more high class. I kept a set of outfits and equipment here just in case I needed them on the opposite side of Manhattan. I had one of these in Harlem and one in Brooklyn as well.  
  
I pulled out a more upscale suit in a shirtwaist pattern, very Katherine Hepburn I must say, and a red wig. A pair of nice sling-backs finished the look along with some glasses.  
  
Soon I was walking into a Park Avenue apartment building.  
  
"Yes ma'am?" the concierge appeared at my elbow.  
  
"I'm here to see Doctor Mayfair."  
  
"Is he expecting you?"  
  
"I don't think so...It's a matter of some importance and discretion though," see, I do know big words.  
  
"Your name?"  
  
"Mona...Mona Del Rio."  
  
"One moment Miss Del Rio, I'll call up."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
He scooped up the phone and turned his back to me for more privacy, it didn't help.  
  
"Mister Mayfair, there is a woman to see you..."  
  
A squeaky voice replied, "Is she a battle or a tomato?"  
  
"Tomato sir."  
  
"Then send her up!"  
  
"Yes sir," the concierge sighed and waved me to the elevator bank, "He is in the Penthouse."  
  
"Thank you," I replied.  
  
The elevator operator was polite and tried not to obviously ogle me. He was definitely a leg-man by the view I caught of him staring at mine, in the polished chrome. I smiled. Different from what I had been used to in my home time.  
  
The door opened into a luxurious entryway. I went to the penthouse door and knocked.  
  
"One moment!" the ludicrously squeaky voice replied. Then the door opened and I saw a very unusual looking man.  
  
He was shorter than average, about 5' 6" or so and very wide across the shoulders. In fact he was built like a football lineman cut off at the knees. His arms were freakishly long and he was covered with rust-colored hair on his arms and hands. He was wearing a stained white lab coat with the sleeves rolled up and a pair of once nice suit pants and dress shirt.  
  
"Mister Andrew Mayfair?" I asked. He sure as hell didn't look like a chemical genius...   
  
"Call me Monk,"...more like a gorilla, "...Miss?"  
  
"Del Rio. Mona Del Rio."  
  
"Well come in Miss Del Rio," he said in that squeaky voice and with a big smile on his battered looking face and stepped aside.  
  
I entered into a very nice living room and immediately noticed a weird looking pig staring back at me. Monk noticed my stare and laughed.  
  
"That's Habeus Corpus. I picked him up in the Middle East a few years ago. Smartest pig you'll ever meet."  
  
"Nice to meet you Habeus...I think?"  
  
The pig snorted and trotted out of the room.  
  
"So what can I do for you?"  
  
I had been thinking about what tactic I'd use, and had decided during the elevator ride that damsel in distress would probably work the best, "Doctor Mayfair, I think someone is trying to kill me."  
  
"What!?" he seemed genuinely surprised and outraged. Excellent.  
  
"I woke in my apartment last night from a strange feeling like I was choking. My french windows had blown open, and I saw a faint mist being sucked out of them."  
  
He became immediately attentive, "Go on."  
  
"Well I got up to close them and immediately fell on the floor. I felt completely drained. A moment later the drained feeling had gone."  
  
"Gas of some sort then..." Monk said thoughtfully. "...a paralytic probably."  
  
"I may have a sample," I pulled the paper containing the scrapings from my clutch. "Scrapings from my wall and my bedstead."  
  
His eyes lit up, "You are a clever girl! Well, let's see what we have." He sprang to his feet and led me to a sophisticated chemical lab that must have taken up half the floor space of his apartment.  
  
Taking the scrapings he immediately set to work, "This might take some time Is there a number I can ring you at?"  
  
"Not at the moment, I'm staying with a friend since last night...Can I see you tomorrow?"  
  
"Sure, it should be done by then."  
  
"I guess I'll be going now?"  
  
"That's fine. Stay safe Miss Del Rio."  
  
"Mona, please."  
  
"Mona then," he smiled and it was actually a nice smile, "Don't worry, we'll figger this out!"  
  
"I'm not worried...not anymore," I smiled back at him and left. I had to hurry and get ready for work after all.  


**Chapter Five**

I left Monk's building and immediately had the sense I was being watched. Interesting.  
  
I turned into an alley and jumped up to the fire escape of the nearest building. I was on the third floor landing before somebody poked his head around the corner. He was average height, thin, and impeccably dressed with a cane and a derby.  
  
He looked down the alley and after a moment's hesitation decided to enter it. When he had passed underneath me, I dropped down and quietly choked him out. The business cards said 'Theodore Marley Brooks JD, Attorney at Law' with a 5th Avenue address. He also had a bunch of documents signed by the Mayor of New York, the Governor of the State, and J. Edgar Hoover stating that he was a duly deputized representative of law enforcement in the United States. I kept frisking him and found a weird looking pistol in a shoulder holster and what looked like a walkie-talkie from my time. It was way too small for what I had seen in 1935 and 36 so far.  
  
I didn't really have a lot of time as my shift was coming up soon, so I put everything back and set him in a corner where he wouldn't be bothered.  
  
The night shift was busy and as it was a Thursday the theater crowd was out in force. Moon didn't have enough time to rant and rave as Sally, Jill, and I were kept scrambling and Maxie was going nuts on the grill.  
  
"Hey Betty!" I heard over the noise.  
  
Sergeant Muldoon was there, so I made sure to get him a fresh cup of coffee to go with his apple pie.  
  
"Here you go Sergeant."  
  
"Thanks Betty, but ya didn't need to..."  
  
"It's alright. Moon wants us to keep you guys in blue happy. If your here there's less chance of something stupid happening."  
  
"Smart thinking..."  
  
"Yeah the boss has his moments. How's that museum robbery going?"  
  
"Nothing really. The Commissioner thinks it's gotta be some rich guy wit' deep pockets hired up the theft."  
  
"What do you think?" I asked.  
  
"Me? Betty, I don't get paid t'think. Makes m'brain itch anyway."  
  
"Can't let that happen, itchy brains can be dangerous. Well, enjoy your pie!"  
  
"Thanks Betty."  
  
After shift I headed home and changed into my sneaky clothes. Making my way to the lawyer's building I carefully forced open the porter's door and slipped up the back stairs to the floor above his address.  
  
At the end of the hall I carefully opened a window and stepped outside, 30 windy stories above the street. Making my way along the decorative ledge, I moved to a point above one of the windows of the address and, after tying off a line to a window washer's stanchion, lowered myself down to peek inside.  
  
All was dark and quiet. Next step was to pull the small pry bar from its sheath and gingerly open the window. With my strength a simple clasp lock didn't stand a chance, and who puts a good lock on a window 29 stories up? Not Mr. Brooks. I slipped inside and crouching down, simply listened.  
  
Nothing, not even snores.  
  
The room I was in, was his dining room by the looks of it. All mahogany and oak with fancy china in cabinets. Very posh. The next room was the kitchen. The other door in the dining room led to the living room. This guy had some serious bucks by the looks of the decorations and furnishings.  
  
Next door was locked. A little pry bar action and that would be solved...except for the fact he had it wired to an alarm. It started ringing to wake the dead, and I turned and headed back towards my entrance, intending to grab my line and scramble up to the ledge above. I had just made it out the window when I heard the dining room door slam open and a loud shout, "There he is!"  
  
Up was now out of the question, they would cut me off before I could get inside. It looked like down now was the goal. There was a dull booming noise and the window glass splintered. They were shooting at me?  
  
I dropped and caught a window sill two stories down. I repeated that fourteen more times until I was on the street. Then I ran like hell.  
  
When I got home I changed into my bedtime clothes and went to sleep. Tomorrow would be another day.  
  
The next morning after changing back into Mona Del Rio I went back to Mayfair's apartment. Mister Fancy-Pants lawyer was in the lobby of the building reading a paper and trying to look innocent. I pretended I didn't notice him.  
  
As I got on to the elevator he got up and started walking my way just as the doors closed. He was probably going to take another one up and sneak up behind me.  
  
"Drop me off one floor below the penthouse and then head back to the lobby," I told the elevator operator as I handed him five dollars. He nodded vigorously and did as I asked. I slipped off my shoes and went up the fire stairs the rest of the way and was peeking through the crack of the slightly opened door just as the elevator with the lawyer had arrived.  
  
He looked both ways down the hall and went to Mayfair's door and knocked.  
  
The door opened, "Hey ya shyster you ain't Miss Del Rio!"  
  
"Can it you missing link. She's not here?"  
  
"Naw, the front desk called up a minute ago sayin' she was on her way."  
  
"Yeah, I saw her get into the elevator and took the next car. You were right on one thing Monk, she is a real dish."  
  
"Told you. Come inside and I'll call down to the lobby. Maybe we can figure out where the mysterious woman with the trace samples of a Middle Eastern poison has disappeared to."  
  
Middle Eastern poison? Cool.  
  
I straightened my outfit and walked to Mayfair's door. Waiting a few more seconds I knocked.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"It's Miss Del Rio...Mona, Mister Mayfair. We had an appointment?"  
  
"What!? Sure sure, hang on a sec toots."  
  
He swung the door open. Obviously blocking my way so the lawyer could get out of sight. After a second he stepped aside and I entered.  
  
"So did you find anything out Mister Mayfair?"  
  
"Please, I told ya it's Monk, not Mister Mayfair." He showed me to a chair. "Yeah, it's a poison alright. Some kind of weird Middle Eastern one with a name that makes me sound like I'm coughing. It means 'silent whip' in Arabic."  
  
"An Arabian poison? How exotic."  
  
"Actually Persian. Created by a group called the Ḥashshāshīn."  
  
"The Assassins?"  
  
"You know about them?" he seemed genuinely surprised. I realized that watching the History Channel wasn't too common in this time.  
  
"I heard rumors..."  
  
"Who are you Mona, and why would the Ḥashshāshīn want to kill you?"  
  
"Not me," I replied thinking fast, "the two guards at the American Museum and the one guard at Cornell. I was sent by my employer to get that material analyzed because he said you were the best chemist in the country." Monk puffed up a little at that flattery so I knew I had him half-fooled at least.  
  
"Who's yer employer?"  
  
"I don't know his real name," I vamped frantically, "He calls himself Nachtjaeger, but I don't think he's German."  
  
"You're his aide then?"  
  
"One of them...I think he has a lot more than just me," hold it together. The big lies will cover the small lies.  
  
The lawyer stepped out of a side room, "Was it your employer that waylaid me yesterday?"  
  
"Uh yes sir, he saw you following me and kind of intervened. Once he saw who you were..."  
  
"I see. Miss Del Rio, do you have a way of contacting your employer?"  
  
"Like I told Mister Monk here please call me Mona."  
  
"I'm Ham Brooks."  
  
"Ham?"  
  
Monk started laughing his head off as I was feeling slightly confused. I mean how can you get 'Ham' as a nickname from Theodore Marley Brooks?  
  
"Monk!" Brooks sounded annoyed with him not me.  
  
"Sorry Ham, I'll be on my best behavior," and Monk did not sound at all serious with that response.  
  
I decided to answer, "I do, but it's a secret."  
  
"Of course. Could you tell him that our...employer would like to speak with him?"  
  
"Sure. How can he get in touch with him?"  
  
"At this number...any time, day or night," he neatly printed it on the back of one of his cards. It was thick and embossed, the card felt kind of heavier than normal too.  
  
"Alright," I replied, "I guess I can go now?"  
  
"Of course," Ham replied.  
  
I called the elevator and as I waited for I carefully separated the business card into layers. Glued between two light pieces of card was a very thin piece of metal foil. I grinned, this was definitely getting interesting.

**Chapter Six**

The foil reminded me of those anti-theft stickers back in my time. I was thinking that Mr. Ham Brooks was trying to lo-jack me. Even though shoplifting was never my thing, even I knew how to deal with loss prevention. Put the trigger foil in something metal or strip it off before you walked out the door. I wanted the Professor to take a look at this later which meant disposal was out, so I rolled the foil into a thin tube and stuffed it inside the barrel of my pistol. Hopefully that would mess it up enough until I could get something better.  
  
Once I was on the street I headed for the nearest cigarette shop and picked up a tin cigar tube 'for my uncle'. This had a screw on cap, and would work better I thought. After that I caught a particular cab at Grand Central Station.  
  
"Hi Moe!" I greeted the cabbie.  
  
"Hey is that you Boss? You look scorchin' as a redhead. Where to?"  
  
"Thanks for the complement, and when I'm looking like this I'm Miss Mona Del Rio. Columbia University, Main building."  
  
"You got it Miss Del Rio!" Shrevvy pulled away from his normal waiting point. I had saved Moses Shrevnitz's from a guy that thought they could use him to run numbers for him and really didn't like being told no. Moe now thought he owed me, so he gave me rides for free and knew a lot about the underworld in New York. Seeing as owning a car in New York was a pain, I liked the deal.  
  
We were about half-way past Central Park when Shrevvy spoke up, "You know we're being followed?"  
  
"Gold-colored sedan?"  
  
"That's the one."  
  
"I thought so. The driver is just going to follow. They think I work for someone else, not that I'm in charge of me."  
  
"Do you care if they know where you're headin'?"  
  
"Not really, pretend to try to lose them. Can't make them think I'm too easy."  
  
Moe laughed, "You got it Miss Del Rio. One slapdash attempt to lose a tail comin' up!"  
  
"You're the best Moe."  
  
"Ya gotta tell my wife that, she'll never believe me."  
  
"Only if she'll make one of those great pot-roasts again."  
  
"No problem, Maggie loves cookin' for ya."  
  
After some sudden turns to make it look good we were back on track to Upper Manhattan. The gold sedan was still following us, but at a distance. Eventually we pulled up in front of the Library building on 114th Street. I made an obvious show of paying the fare and got ready to Moe's cab.  
  
"You want me t'wait for ya?"  
  
"No. Might look a little suspicious. If you get stopped and questioned, tell them that this woman just got nervous that she was being followed by some stalker type, and you did the evasion to make her feel better."  
  
"Works for me. See ya later."  
  
"Take care Shrevvy."  
  
He pulled away and I headed inside. My destination; the rare books section. I am not a research type, but knowing how to do it was part of my skill set. It's something all modern Slayers need to learn especially with the Council getting all blown up.  
  
I was never a language god like other people, but knowing Latin, Greek, Sumerian, and chunks of a bunch of other languages does come in handy. My source here was Dr. Francis T. Kincaid. He had had a gambling problem that had gotten severe enough to get his legs broken. Now he didn't have that problem anymore and I had gained the contents of a loan shark's safe.  
  
Doc Kincaid was an expert on useless information. I mean, you poke him and streams of facts would come spilling out.  
  
"Hey Doc!"  
  
"My savior! That's a new look for you though."  
  
"You like?"  
  
"Red suits you."  
  
"Call me Miss Del Rio."  
  
"Okay. Will somebody be asking about you?"  
  
"Not sure, best to be safe though."  
  
"True enough. What brings you to my slice of heaven?" Kincaid's office looked like a procession of filing cabinets had exploded. There were books and papers stacked everywhere. The only clear spaces were the path to his desk and the one chair he offered to visitors.  
  
"What can you tell me about Middle Eastern poison called the Silent Whip. It was used by..."  
  
"The Assassins if I remember correctly..." his eyes had half-closed as he started to think, "Distilled from a rare species of moss from the Tiber river...Burned to produce a toxic smoke...Tricky to produce as the moss needs to be treated in a mercury vapor bath at a strict temperature and duration. It goes bad quickly as well..."  
  
"How quickly?"  
  
"Two or three days at most I believe...I have a monograph somewhere in here..." he started rummaging through the piles of paper.  
  
"So if it was used in New York it would have had to have been made in New York?"  
  
"I would think so, but the moss would have to have been imported of course...Where is that monograph?" he answered distractedly as he continued to search.  
  
"Can you get me a list of the materials that aren't moss?"  
  
"Needed to make it? Probably. Do you want me to call you?"  
  
"I still don't have a telephone yet."  
  
"Well then can you wait? It won't take me longer than half an hour to track that monograph down and it has the formula...or at least the bill of materials needed."  
  
"Sure. I'll be in the main reading room."  
  
I left as he continued his search. As I left I had a feeling I was being watched again. The only people in the hall were a few students and a schlubby janitor mopping the floor, and none of them appeared to be looking at me.   
  
I kept going, then it hit me. The janitor's shoes were way too nice to belong. I stopped and turned around and began to walk towards him. He was a big guy who was slouching to hide his size. He had a cloth cap pulled down to hide his hair and shadow his face.  
  
"May I make the acquaintance of whoever is following me?" I asked.  
  
"How?" was the reply. His voice was low and controlled.  
  
"The shoes." I answered.  
  
He nodded, "It's always the little things."  
  
I nodded back. "Why with the following?" I asked.  
  
"I was curious."  
  
"So you're Mayfair and Brooks' boss then? Nacht will call you. I just haven't had a chance to talk to him yet."  
  
"Night?"  
  
"That's what he calls himself," I answered. "Who am I to judge?"  
  
The big guy nodded again, "And you're here because?"  
  
"Following up on the murders at the museum. Weird poison, so I thought I would see if somebody here knew about it."  
  
"Reasonable. Any success?"  
  
"Not really. It's a really weird poison."  
  
"Make sure he calls," the big man straightened up, he stood at least 6'4", and pulled off his cap revealing golden blond hair and heavily sun-bronzed shin. He was amazing beefcake.  
  
"You have my boss's name, what's yours?"  
  
He turned to look at me, "Savage, Clark Savage." Then left.

**Chapter Seven**

I gulped behind my calm expression. Even somebody temporally not from around here like me, had heard about the legendary Doc Savage. He was the guy that owned the Empire State Building for one thing. He was like this mega-bad ass crime fighting inventor genius guy. I was so out of my league and I had to get clear of him before I lost my cool and did something more dumb.  
  
"Mister Savage," I said, "It is a real pleasure to meet you."  
  
"A pleasure to make your acquaintance Miss Del Rio."  
  
"Please...Call me Mona. I really must be going now."  
  
"Of course."  
  
I sashayed off, giving a little extra hip swivel to draw his attention there and not my face.  
  
When I got to the reading room, I pulled out a current glamour magazine and started reading up on the forecast for next year's hemlines.  
  
I had arrived in this time by means currently unknown, only to realize it when I had landed in the East River. Once I got ashore it was pretty obvious that I wasn't anywhere near home. I spent the first month in the Hooverville in Central Park, spending my days waiting in line at soup kitchens and searching for any trace of how I got here.  
  
This world had no vampires like I was used to, no Council, no demonic influences...nothing. What it did have, were masked heroes and over the top types like Savage. Weird scientific crime and plenty of madmen. My big problem was, a Slayer's gotta Slay. Without vamps to stake I was getting seriously stressed out and loopy so I started going after street crime. Not killing them of course. Just trying to make people's lives a little bit tense.  
  
I started raking in cash when I took on mobsters and illegal casinos and white slavery rings. The risk went up of course, but compared to fighting a horde of leeches these guys were amateur hour. Over the last year I had met and helped a lot of people. The ones I helped at first knew me as Betty. The ones I helped later knew me as a black clad fighter...now those silly Nazis had given me a good name...Nacht. I liked it.  
  
As I paged through the magazine I was mentally making a list of things I needed to do and get. I was pretty sure, given what I had heard or read, that this era probably had a mad scientist with a dimensional rupture ray or something that could get me home. I just had to find him or her before some other avenging type got there first and punched it to pieces. Therefore I had to get more involved in the weird crime that was occurring.  
  
First order of business was to get the Professor to build me some things. Second is to set up a better home base. Sadly, I was going to have to quit my job or cut back on my hours worked. Maybe I could say I had a sick aunt in Flatbush I needed to take care of? Whatever.  
  
Peeking carefully around the edges of the magazine I couldn't see anybody watching me. But if a guy like Savage could make an anti-shoplifting tag in 1936, I figured he could make some pretty small bugs and cameras as well. I hadn't really gotten close enough for him to touch me, so if he had planted a bug or a tracker it would have had to have been something he had flipped or thrown at me as I walked away...  
  
I went to the ladies room and taking off my jacket saw a little ball of wire fluff with a crystalline center. I pulled it off carefully and weighed it in my hand. It was balanced well enough that I was pretty sure I could flick it a good ten or fifteen feet and be reasonably certain of its point of impact. I'm sure Savage had practiced with it and had better range.  
  
Keeping it concealed in my hand I headed back to my chair and my magazine. In another ten minutes or so, Kincaid came over to me and slipped me a piece of paper with a list of materials and tools.  
  
"Silent whip?" I asked.  
  
"What I could find at least."  
  
"Thanks Doc."  
  
"Don't mention it," he slipped off back to his office and I got up preparing to leave. I still didn't see Savage, but he was probably watching a tracker for that piece of fluff I found.  
  
It would be annoying for him to keep following me around and I couldn't be certain if he had slipped anything else on me or my bag. This called for a tactical makeover.  
  
I hailed a cab to Macy's and soon had found a subdued dark suit and some cute shoes. Mona's hair, shoes, and dress disappeared into the incinerator chute and the ball of fluff was stuck to another redhead of about my height. After that it was a streetcar back to the Hotel New Yorker.  
  
"Hi Professor!"  
  
"Betty! That iz a nize outfit."  
  
"Thanks. Professor, I'd like to hire you to build some stuff for me."  
  
"Oh?" he sounded curious not offended at least.  
  
"Well yeah. Two things off the bat. First is a really compact set of radios. One that I could wear on a belt or something."  
  
"Voize or Morze?"  
  
"You mean like Morse code?" he nodded.  
  
"I'd like voice, but if that's too difficult or would be really fragile...blinking a light would work."  
  
"That iz pozzible," he said thoughtfully. "And the other?"  
  
"I want something to change the sound of my voice. Make it harsher, deeper, not sounding like it came from somebody named Betty."  
  
"Harmonicz and rezonanze shifting..." I could see the gears whirring as he thought, "Yezzz, that would work. When do you need them?"  
  
"As soon as possible, but the second item before the first preferably."  
  
"Give me two dayz. Then you will take me out to a fine meal. Deal?"  
  
"Deal!" I gave him a hug which surprised him slightly but he was smiling at least.  
  
"Be careful Betty. There are many sharkz out there."  
  
"I know, but I'm a Killer Whale," I walked away cheerfully.  
  
My next stop was the cobbler in Greenwich Village who had made my boots for me. "Mister Jackson?"  
  
"Is that you Miss Harris? Hope there's no problem with those boots I made ya."  
  
"Not at all. I'd like another pair with some additions."  
  
"And what would they be?"  
  
"Two inch lifts inside, an extra thick sole, and an inch high raised heel."  
  
"They'll look awfully chunky on legs like yours."  
  
"Why Mister Jackson..." he had the grace to flush slightly at my response.  
  
"Jest sayin'."  
  
"I need the extra height. Can you do it?"  
  
"Sure. Might be easier slippin' a shell made to yer fitting inside a larger boot though."  
  
"Like a sleeve?"  
  
"Yeah...exactly like that. Take less time too if I just made some kind of shell and slipped them on the pair I already made you. Black boots, black leather. They'd blend in."  
  
"And they would come off easily too, but stay on if I was running or something?"  
  
"Not hard to do that. Jest need to put a pair of straps on them."  
  
"Do it," I pulled out ten dollars. "I'll double that if they can be ready in a couple of days."  
  
"Yes Ma'am! I'll get right to work on it," he was smiling as he went to his supplies of leather, "Jest bring the boots by tomorrow so I can fit them properly."  
  
"Not a problem."  
  
My last stop was uptown at the Abercrombie and Fitch building and its seventh floor. Guns and safari supplies.  
  
"Miss Giles! so good to see you again."  
  
"Fine fine," I told the floor manager, "I'm here to see Mister Oswald."  
  
"Of course, right this way."  
  
The manager led me back to the workshop where all kinds of rifles and shotguns were in various states of being repaired and adjusted. Bent over a workbench was a well-built black man in his thirties carefully adjusting a trigger pull. He was missing his left hand and had a clever pair of mechanical clamps attached to his stump.  
  
Sergeant James Oswald was a World War I...uh, Great War vet. He had fought with the 157th Red Hand Division and received the Legion of Merit for his actions. He was also being messed with by a bunch of drunken gangsters before I stepped in.  
  
"Mister Oswald."  
  
"Miss Giles! Yes it's done."  
  
The floor manager turned and left, called out to the main level by one of the clerks.  
  
"Okay Sergeant, show it to me..."  
  
He grinned and fished a long-gun case out from underneath his workbench. Inside was what had started life as a brand-new for 1936 Winchester Model 37 break action shotgun chambered for 3" 12 gauge shells. The stock had been shortened and shaped into a pistol grip and the barrel had been cut to 6" ahead of the trigger guard then expertly refinished. A hooked bracket had been fitted to the fore-end and the whole weapon had been stained and parkerized black.  
  
"Very pretty," I said appreciatively, "and the ammunition?"  
  
Jim pulled out a musette bag filled with brass shells, "Presenting the Oswald Patent Pending silent shotgun round!"  
  
I picked up the unloaded casing he handed me. Inside the casing was the powder charge underneath a tightly fitted piston. This piston trapped the gas preventing the sound of the explosion from traveling very far. It had to use a reduced powder load, but it was still effective for what I needed it for.  
  
He next handed me the collapsible grappling hook and the hardened steel spikes, both with clips for attaching the line. The line reel would fit onto the bracket of course.  
  
"Sergeant, you do great work," I handed him the sheaf of bills. "And now I have to pay the clerk for the tuned Model 37 I ordered," I grinned at him. "Good thing I don't have to say how tuned..."

**Chapter Eight**

That night I broke the fact about my sick aunt in Flatbush and that I would have to go to part time. Moon grumbled a lot, and Sally was sad, but they both bought the story. From now on I would be working only 10-20 hours a week at the automat.  
  
Mister Jackson had already made a scabbard/holster for my new toy so after work, I changed and tested it out.  
  
Even with its reduced powder load and the weight of the grappling hook, it was easily able to send it to the roof of a six story building, and the steel spike would stick firmly at up to fifty feet horizontal. Because of the construction of the shell there nothing more than a subdued pop from the launcher when it was fired. Very quiet. I was going to have to see if I could get the Sergeant to make me some other tools later.  
  
The next day I was woken up by a ringing on my buzzer. I went downstairs to see who was there.  
  
"Morning Shrevvy..." I mumbled.  
  
"Out late last night?" he was grinning.  
  
"And thank you very much Mister Sunshine and Rainbows," I yawned. "Come on up."  
  
Once I had started coffee we headed into my workroom. Moe was the only other person I had trusted with the knowledge of its existence. Mainly because he helped me get the rugs and furniture up into it.  
  
"Got a hot tip for ya Betty."  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"Fats Morrison is gonna be in town."  
  
"He's the guy you told me about right? Big gambler heavy into opium dens in Chicago's Chinatown?"  
  
"That's the guy. Ya want him?"  
  
I smiled, "Sure. When and where?"  
  
"No clue tonight, but tomorrow he'll be at Ruthie's joint in Harlem. He's looking' t'buy out Ruthie permanently I hear."  
  
Ruthie was the 300 pound madam of a relatively honest and clean brothel. She didn't dope her girls and they could come and go. I had no real issues with her. Murder on the other hand, annoyed me.  
  
"Well, I think I ought to do something about that."  
  
"Thought ya might."  
  
"Thanks Moe. Also, you want to work for me full-time? I'll pay you."  
  
"You serious Betty?"  
  
"Yes. I've been helping people all over the city part-time. It's time I got a little more focused. I've already cut my hours at the automat."  
  
"Why not quit entirely?"  
  
"It's good camouflage for poor Betty Harris to be working there, even part time."  
  
"Okay. What would ya want me to do?"  
  
"Pretty much what you're doing now. Drive me around when I need a ride. Keep your ears open, maybe run some errands. You can keep on cab driving when I don't need you, but if I need you..."  
  
"Drop the fare and get goin'?"  
  
"I'm not that mean...am I? No, just finish the run and get back to me."  
  
"How will ya get in touch with me?"  
  
"I've got the Professor working on that. He should be ready with it tomorrow. Oh, and Shrevvy?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Where can I find middle eastern spices that are guaranteed fresh in this city?"  
  
Moe thought for a second, "Dashari's down by Chinatown. Hole in th'wall, but they have almost anything ya would want I think."  
  
"Can you wait a few minutes while I get changed? I'd like to go there."  
  
"Guess this means I'm workin' for ya..."  
  
"I guess it does."  
  
I made sure to be wearing a scarf over my black wig. I had used the equivalent of a bronzer to darken my face and hands and wore smoked sunglasses.   
  
As we drove to the store I asked Shrevvy to find me a small warehouse to rent or buy. Something close to my apartment building would be nice. He nodded and said he knew some guys.  
  
When we arrived I walked in and in my best Arabic (which is actually pretty good to be honest), started reading off the materials list that Doc Kincaid had given me.  
  
I got really lucky. The first items got a bored stare, but as I continued the guy behind the counter started to get really nervous and almost freaked when I mentioned the moss at the end.  
  
"Why do you want these things?" he asked.  
  
"I don't, and neither does my employer. He only really would like the names of the other persons that purchased them within the last week."  
  
"You do not know what you ask! You should go now!"  
  
"That those names belong to members of the Ḥashshāshīn? I do know that and so does my employer."  
  
He turned really pale at that.  
  
"He would like to talk to them about matters of mutual interest. He'll have a messenger here at noon in two days.  
  
"What is his name...your employer?"  
  
"I really don't know his real one, but he calls himself Nacht."  
  
I left and climbed into Shrevvy's cab."  
  
"Success?" he asked.  
  
"Actually I think so. Shrevvy, are you sure you want to work for me? It could get really weird and dangerous."  
  
"Yeah I'm in. Get paid and help you help other people like me? I can do that."  
  
"Good. You can drop me off at home now, and meet me at the Hotel New Yorker tomorrow at one then. Hopefully the Professor will have finished by then."  
  
"And tomorrow night?"  
  
"Tomorrow, Nacht visits Harlem."

**Chapter Nine**

I spent the rest of the day collecting gear I thought I'd need along with dropping off my boots at Mister Jackson's. He had already finished the lifts and just needed to do a fitting and match. They were perfect so I ordered another pair with boots just in case.  
  
Next stop was pick up a pair of longer men's suit pants to hide my lack of leg bulk, and a black formal shirt that would be padded in the shoulders. I had to make my silhouette as un-likely to be female as possible. While I was at the clothing store, I found an awesome red scarf that would completely hide the lower half of my face. I had to get it...I just had to.  
  
The next day Moe and I headed over to see the Professor.  
  
"Mister Shrevnitz, has zhe told you what zort of inzanity zhe iz about to begin?"  
  
"Mostly, Professor Tesla. Sounded good to me so I signed right up."  
  
"Both of you are crazy," the Professor sighed, "I zuppoze I muzt be az well zince I am helping."  
  
"Are they done?"  
  
"Oh yez. Here iz the radio," he handed me two boxes the size of a Stephen King paperback. "Both can Tranzmit and rezeive voize or Morze. The code key iz here on the zide."  
  
"Radios that small?" Moe looked impressed. I was too. The Professor had made these in less than two days.  
  
"It was zomething I had been working on for a while. Our young friend here gave me encouragement to finizh. And Betty, here iz the other item. Power zwitch iz here and a carbon microphone on a lead here. Zmall zpeaker on a lead here."  
  
I picked up the device, mentally deciding where it would fit in my coat. It was smaller than the radio at least. I turned it on and spoke into the microphone, "Tesssting tesssting one two threeee." It turned my voice into a rough low hissing speech. Totally unlike my real voice. With a German accent it would be impossible to identify me.  
  
"Wow!" Moe replied startled, "That is somethin' Professor."  
  
"It iz izn't it?" the Professor looked very pleased with himself, "A devize of limited practicality, but it haz ztarted me thinking about the mutation and alteration of zound by electrical meanz. I have zome new ideaz now."  
  
"Professsor," I said through the voice changer, "It'sss perfect."  
  
"Ah good! And dinner?"  
  
"Delmonico's okay?" his eyes lit up when I said that.  
  
"Of courze Betty. It will be perfect."  
  
"Okay then, meet you here at six?"  
  
"Fine."  
  
The Professor and Shrevvy quickly fitted one of the radios into Shrevvy's cab with a small light that would blink on his dashboard. I found the other would just fit into a slightly larger handbag then the one I was currently carrying. I had larger ones at home so that was good.  
  
After Shrevvy dropped me off I started fiddling with the voice box on my equipment harness. I had a old cookie tin that was about the right size so I walked down to the hardware store and picked up some black paint and some vermiculite. Putting the Professor's box in and then filling the empty space with the clay pellets, I then painted the tin black, so it wouldn't be as obvious and punched a hole for the mike and speaker wires. Then the box was wired to my belt.  
  
The mike would be next to my lips and the speaker on my throat. That new red scarf would hide both of them. By six I had all my gear ready and after a pleasant dinner I returned to get dressed and set up.  
  
Moe picked me up in the alley behind my building as night fell. I had practiced walking in this new gear and it felt okay. My balance wasn't off at all actually.  
  
"Damn Betty! Ya don't look like you."  
  
"Thanksss Ssshrevvy, but when I'm dressssed like thisss, call me Nacht."  
  
"Got it boss. Ruthie's?"  
  
"Will Fat'ssss be there yet?"  
  
"Probably not, but it might be nice t'scope out the area."  
  
I nodded and Moe started driving.  
  
Harlem in the 1930s was a jumping place with places like the Cotton Club, Connie's Inn, the Savoy Ballroom, and the relatively new Apollo Theater. With the exceptions of the Apollo and the Savoy though, these sadly were white-only except for the performers and staff. There were also other kinds of entertainment in Harlem of which Ruthie's Smoking Club was a prime example.  
  
Moe turned into an alley and I slipped out of the cab as he drove away. Then it was up the fire escape and across the rooftops to Ruthie's. I had never been inside before, but Moe had, picking up drunk patrons to get them home to their wives, and he had given me the rundown on the layout. It was a six story building. The bar and 'smoking club' were on the first and second floors. Third, fourth, and fifth floors had 'private club rooms' and the working girls' rooms, and Ruthie used the sixth floor as her office and home.  
  
There was a door to the service stairs up on the roof and it didn't take too much Slayer strength to quietly pop the lock. I quietly slipped down them. It sounded like Ruthie was in her office arguing with a liquor dealer about his prices. After she hung up the phone. I swung the side door open and turned off the ceiling light at the wall switch. Ruthie gasped and I could hear a drawer sliding open. She was illuminated in the light from her desk lamp as she stood up; about 6' 5" tall and built like an Amazon carved out of black stone. She was wearing what looked like, at least in the limited light, a gorgeously fitted red silk evening gown that was extremely low cut and a lot of awesome jewelry.  
  
"You're dead."  
  
"I'm not here to harm you Frau Ruth. Quite the contrary."  
  
"Who are you?"  
  
"Not a friend...Not yet. More ssssomeone who wishessss thisss busssinesss to ssstay under your ownerssship," Tesla's gadget was working perfectly and I had to bite my lip to keep from giggling I sounded so melodramatic.  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"Fatsss Morrissson isss approaching meine Dame. You may have heard of thisss man?"  
  
"I have, and nothin' good."  
  
"Yesss. Well he wantsss your club. I on the other hand, think you ssshould keep your club. Thatsss why I am here."  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"Yesss. Thisss place hasss a good reputation. Fatsss likesss usssing opium to keep hisss employeesss in line. He would usssse the reputation to ssspread hisss poisssonssss."  
  
"So you're one of those masked types? First time I've heard of one of you sticking up for somebody like me."  
  
"I am...different than most Frau Ruth," different like you would not believe. "Will you let me help you?"  
  
"And you're askin' for permission?"  
  
"It isss your busssinesss after all."  
  
"What do you want in return?"  
  
"Nothing from you. I will claim my price from Fatsss."  
  
She grinned in the dim light and slid the drawer shut, "You gonna' rob him after ruinin' his evening? That's cold."  
  
"I said I wasss different."  
  
"Yes you did, Mister?"  
  
"Nacht. Jussst Nacht isss fine."  
  
"Okay Nacht and I'm Ruthie, not this Frau Ruth garbage. Want a drink while we wait?"  
  
"No thank you Ruthie."  
  
"Mind if I finish up some paperwork?"  
  
"Not at all. I will wait on your stairs." I slipped back through the door and sat down on a step, listening carefully I heard Ruthie laugh softly and then speak on the intercom.  
  
"We may have some uninvited guests to night. Just show them up and don't start anything. Keep your firepower handy though."  
  
I had gambled on the fact that Fats' rep had preceded him and I had gotten lucky again. If Ruthie had started shooting it could have gotten really interesting in that office.  
  
I checked my wristwatch after a while. I had been waiting for about an hour and a half when the noise sounded.  
  
"Well hello Ruthie!"  
  
"Fats Morrison I would guess?"  
  
"Huh, somebody tipped ya I see. You know why I'm here?"  
  
"I've heard of your buyout act Fats. I'm not selling though."  
  
"Act? I'll pay good money..."  
  
"...Unless you just decide you won't," Ruthie replied.  
  
I stepped into the room, "Besidesss I don't think the lady wantsss to sssell, Herr Schwein."  
  
"Who the heck are you?"  
  
"I am Nacht and you are leaving."  
  
He had three big guys with him and Fats deserved his nickname. No time to be cute. I did a leaping side kick on the closest goon aiming him towards his buddy to his right. I caught him high on the shoulder spinning him and separating it with a pop. As he was trying to draw his gun with that arm I considered the dislocation a secondary victory.  
  
He went crashing into his pal, so I rabbit punched Fats in the gut and as he bent over, I kneed him in the face. Goon #3 was getting his pistol out, so I ducked under his reach and slugged him in the nerve bundle in the armpit. He spasmed and I uppercutted him. The goon that had had his buddy kicked into him was recovering so I heel stomped his ankle and threw a forearm smash into his chest. He collapsed gasping. The entire fight had lasted less than twenty seconds or so.  
  
Ruthie stood there staring at me, "Damn Nacht, you got some moves."  
  
"I'm sssure you do too Ruthie. Sssadly I cannot indulge."  
  
She laughed, "And a sense of humor. What now?"  
  
"Well I will dissspossse of thisss trash. Can you get them hauled to the alley?" she nodded. "Then I will remove the ressst of Fatsss people in the area. If he isss found with large amountsss of illegal substancesss tied naked to a flagpole...I do not believe he will do well in court."  
  
"You could be right on that. I'll get my boys to move this trash."

**Chapter Ten**

Fats had six guys waiting outside in a pair of cars. He had had two more inside waiting to signal them if a fight had broken out. Ruthie's security had taken them out. I was crouched on the roof looking down at them.  
  
Cars of this time were made of steel, but really didn't have much in the way of rollover protection. They tended to crumple like a soda can. I grinned and winced at the thoughts of all the different ways this could go bad as I stepped off the roof.  
  
Fortunately the car roof caved in nicely, absorbing and slowing my impact. The three guys inside were maybe a little surprised when the headroom went away and the windows exploded outwards. The guy standing outside that car, smoking, spun just in time to get punched in the face as I flipped on to the ground from the caved-in roof.  
  
The two in the other car came piling out, guns drawn. I drew my pistol and shot one of them in the leg. There was no time for me to get close to do a disarm. I don't like guns, but they are a weapon so I do instinctively know how to use them. The impact against his calf threw off his stride and he plowed face first into the ground, his shot going wild.  
  
The other guy had drawn a sawed-off shotgun. This was not cool. I did a hands free cartwheel over the wreckage of the car I had landed on, firing as I moved. This maneuver took the gunman by surprise and he pulled the triggers by reflex rather than intention. The buckshot blasted a chunk out of the sidewalk but missed me cleanly. I didn't miss with two rounds in his left arm and one in his stomach. I didn't want to kill him, but they started it with the intent to do the shooting.  
  
By this time one of the guys in the back seat of the wrecked car had managed to force the door open so I elbowed him in the throat. He gasped and choked until I rapped him in the temple with my pistol butt.  
  
I heard sirens. The pistol shots and the shotgun blasts had gotten somebody's attention. The door to Ruthie's opened and a swarm of her security guys came piling out. A few of them hauling Fats and his goons. Ruthie stood behind them.  
  
"Drop them off, get inssside and play dumb, Frau Ruth. I will draw the law'sss attention."  
  
"You got it Nacht. You heard the masked man boys. Leave them for law."  
  
The security guys dropped off their cargo and headed back in. Ruthie stood there and blew me a kiss, "Talk to you later Mister Nacht," before heading back inside. I quickly rifled through Fats and his guy's wallets. I had figured a guy like Morrison would carry a lot of cash to impress people and I was right. He had three or four thousand dollars on him and his men had another thousand or so between them.  
  
"Thank you for your generousss contribution to the Nacht Operating Expenssssesss Fund Herr Morrissson. It issss very appreciated."   
  
He groaned.  
  
The cops came screaming around the corner. I was standing on the wreckage of the car, bodies scattered around me. Now in New York City there's a little piece of law called the Sullivan Act. It makes it one hundred percent illegal to have any kind of concealed weapon on you at any time without a permit. The only people that have permits are politicians, celebrities, or anybody with local influence. Fats was an out of town guy. He did not have that kind of influence. Plus, I had just taken his primary bribe stash. Also as a known shady guy moving across state lines, I was sure the FBI would be interested in his arrest and questioning. In the mean time I had to distract New York's finest from Ruthie's front door.  
  
The first car skidded to a stop right in front of me. Two cops piled out and were pointing their pistols at me. I stayed perfectly still. Two more cars and a couple of beat cops arrived. That was enough witnesses.  
  
I jumped straight up and grabbed hold of one of the power or phone lines that formed a web over the Manhattan streets. Giant swinging up I drew my line launcher and shot the grapple to the roof of a building across the street. With the silk rope as a swing line, I jumped off of my twenty foot high perch and swung low using my momentum and the force of my leap, to push me up to the rooftops. I ducked down from the hail of gunshots that my escape had triggered and reeled in my line as I hauled ass away.  
  
"Ssshrevvy," I whispered into my radio.  
  
"Yeah Boss?"  
  
"Pick me up by the river behind the Savoy. I think I may have annoyed the copsss."  
  
"You got it!'  
  
Making my way across the rooftops, and using my line launcher to cross the major streets, it took me about half an hour to get there. I dropped down and slipped into Moe's cab Once inside Moe waited as I slipped out of my 'Nacht' outfit and into a dress I had left in a garment bag. Some make-up later and I was not the same person who had just busted up the notorious thug Fats Morrison.  
  
Shrevvy pulled away and started heading south, "So Betty, how'd it go?"  
  
I handed him two one hundred dollar bills, "To the Shrevnitz retirement fund, a small contribution."  
  
"Are these real!?!"  
  
"If they aren't, Morrison is going to be a little upset if he ever finds out."  
  
He tried to hand them back and I waved them away, "Those are for you and your lovely wife."  
  
"Thanks Betty. Uh, what now?"  
  
"Now I need to find somebody that knows telephones and how they are connected in New York. Any ideas?"  
  
"And can keep their mouth shut?"  
  
I nodded, "Of course."  
  
"I'll check around. You know this radio worked swell."  
  
"The Professor does good work. He is a genius you know."  
  
"Yeah that's pretty obvious," Moe eventually pulled up in front of my building and I got out.  
  
"G'night Miss!"  
  
"Good night."  
  
Before sleep I cleaned and oiled my weapons and checked over my gear. It had all worked great. I made sure that the batteries for the voice changer and radio still had a good charge then disconnected them just as the Professor had shown me. The money went into a safe in my workroom. I went to bed dreaming of future plans.  
  
The next day I was supposed to have a meet with the Ḥashshāshīn...maybe. I dressed up as I had before and buzzing Moe's radio, arranged for him to pick me up in an hour or so. Getting out of the cab at the spice shop I made a show of paying him and walked inside.  
  
The guy behind the counter was different than the one I had met before, he had killer's eyes. Excellent.  
  
"Business?" I asked in Arabic.  
  
He nodded and pointed towards a curtained off back room.  
  
"A woman?" this was said in Arabic by an old guy smoking a hookah. He was seated on a cushion on the floor with a fancy middle eastern coffeepot beside him.  
  
"Yes, a woman. I am glad that your vision is so keen as to penetrate my clever disguise."  
  
He gave a barking laugh, "And one with a mouth on her. Your use of my language is surprisingly good. For an infidel."  
  
"And you are surprisingly complimentary. For a murderer."  
  
He laughed again, "Coffee?"  
  
"Please."  
  
He poured. It was really good...also probably poisoned or drugged. Fortunately, Slayers can handle a lot of bad chemicals.  
  
"Your name?" he asked.  
  
"Sylvia will do quite nicely."  
  
"I am called the Voice."  
  
"You do the talking?"  
  
"Exactly. You do know us then?"  
  
"I've heard of you in passing. My employer probably knows far more."  
  
"Your employer?"  
  
"He calls himself Nacht."  
  
"He is German?"  
  
"I think so."  
  
"So what does your employer want?"  
  
"To ask you about the theft of the ancient batteries."  
  
"He is very well informed."  
  
"He tries," I couldn't help it, I was actually starting to enjoy this.  
  
"Hmmm..." he took a sip of coffee and another puff from his hookah. He was a showman playing up what he wanted people to see. I could tell that he was ready and willing to take me down without a flicker of regret though. If he decided it was necessary.  
  
"Hmm?" I asked.  
  
"Our business and our existence is private."  
  
"Does that mean you will kill me now?"  
  
"What purpose would that serve? Your employer has other employees I'm sure and he still knows we exist and that we were involved. Killing you would be unnecessary and inconvenient."  
  
I laughed and he looked very very slightly surprised at my reaction.  
  
"Oh?" he asked.  
  
"I never have been glad to have been considered 'inconvenient' before."  
  
He gave another bark of laughter at that, "Ah I see your point. So what to do...I know, we were hired to perform a set of jobs."  
  
"How many?"  
  
"Four. Three are done already. I am only telling you this because it will amuse me to see our contractor annoyed."  
  
"My employer will try to stop the last job you know."  
  
"I am not surprised. However, I do not think he will learn about it before it occurs."  
  
"And your contractor is not to your taste?"  
  
He shook his head solemnly, "He is a fool, but his money is good."  
  
"Very well. Thank you for your hospitality Voice."  
  
"It was my pleasure Miss Sylvia."  
  
I got up and walked out, hiding the momentary wooziness from whatever drug he had put in the coffee. I had to get home before I passed out.  
  
I was reasonably certain that the Voice was going to be very surprised that I had managed to leave without collapsing.

**Chapter Eleven**

I rushed through the spice shop and was out on the street before the guy taking the place of the clerk could react. Once outside I stuck my hand in my purse and pressed the signal key. There were enough witnesses that I thought that the Ḥashshāshīn wouldn't try anything too blatant.  
  
A cab pulled over, but it wasn't Moe so I pretended I didn't see it. Whatever the Voice had dosed me with was obviously pretty badass, as I could feel myself getting drowsier and drowsier by the second.  
  
The cab honked at me, causing me to involuntarily turn. I could barely keep my eyes open. Then there was a screech of tires and a crash. The sudden loud noise joggled me out of my haze and I managed to pull myself up straight. Moe had 'accidentally' run into the other cab and was now loudly arguing with the driver. A crowd was forming, so I used this diversion to slip into an alley. Flipping up a manhole I ducked into the sewers and started legging it west along the drains. The stink was amazing, but it kept me from passing out at least. I kept going for a half hour or so in a stumbling daze before I could feel the drug weakening. I kept going until I found a manhole without the telltale rumble of traffic passing over it. I carefully lifted it up to see if there were any prying eyes, and when the coast was clear I climbed out.  
  
I pressed the button to signal Moe. A second later I heard his voice.  
  
"You okay?"  
  
"I think so. I'm over on 16th Street. They tried to drug me but it didn't fully take. Thanks for the save, that other cab was totally part of their crew."  
  
"I know most of the hacks in this city and that guy wasn't any of them. He was also staring hard at ya...and not in th'normal red-blooded way."  
  
I laughed, "Pick me up and get me home. I need a serious nap."  
  
"On m'way!"  
  
After a good night's sleep, I felt a whole lot better, and I was pretty sure whatever I got hit with was now harmless to me. As I was drinking my second pot of coffee Moe stopped by with the name of a realtor and a phone guy. The realtor had a nice warehouse with offices on a mezzanine. It was only a couple of blocks from my apartment and the price was right so I rented it for Giles Associates. God I loved the lack of paperwork in this time. Or at least the usefulness of bribes to avoid paperwork.  
  
The phone guy was an engineer named Burbank. He was ex-Army Signal Corps and had had a rough time of it after the war.  
  
"So is that your first name or your last?" I asked him at the diner where we met.  
  
"Does it matter?"  
  
"Not really."  
  
He grinned. He had a patch over one eye and chemical burn marks staining his cheek. They looked old. He didn't.  
  
"So what's the job?" he asked.  
  
"Completely illegal, no one will get hurt, and it pays extremely well."  
  
"Go on."  
  
"My employer would like to make and receive calls without AT&T knowing about them or being able to trace them."  
  
"That's it?"  
  
"That's it," I replied. "Can it be done? If it can't, you can tell me now and I'll give you a hundred dollars to forget about this conversation."  
  
"A hundred if I say it can't be done?"  
  
"Think about how much you will make, if it can..."  
  
He sat there for a moment and sipped his coffee, "In the 1920s they decided to move most of the phone lines underground and set up switching centers connected by large trunk conduits. If I could get access to one of those, I could hardwire some particular numbers past the switch points. Create an exchange that can't exist and will never have numbers assigned to it normally... How many numbers does your boss want?"  
  
"How many can you get?"  
  
"Theoretically? 10,000. Practically? Ten to twenty."  
  
"Can you set up a couple of fake exchanges with a total of 20 numbers or so?"  
  
"Sure. As long as I can get access."  
  
"When?"  
  
"Take a day to get the tools together, also, I'll need to run a bunch of telephone cable. You know where the end points are going to be?"  
  
"Actually yes."  
  
Running the cable through the sewers to my apartment and the warehouse was a lot easier than it sounds. This was the 1930s where even with the Depression going on, cities were being expanded. Burbank was able to just haul a spool down and connect to the trunk lines less than three blocks away with nobody asking any questions.  
  
Also, as usual, nobody ever thinks to secure underground entrances in big cities. Even with a city with as many tunnels as New York, it was easy enough to slip into the Central Office from below and I stood guard while Burbank worked his magic. I could tell he was curious about first, my willingness to help him underground, and then my strength and endurance.  
  
"Miss Harris, who the hell are you?"  
  
"The personal assistant to a very secretive man," I hefted the 75 pound cable spool onto my shoulder.  
  
"It's just that..." he stared at the spool and I grinned.  
  
"Maybe I'll tell you someday," I walked on whistling.  
  
It took two days but we were done. Two dedicated lines to my apartment and six to the warehouse, Burbank had created a neat little mechanical device that let me switch the lines out of the warehouse from my home phone, and had one line that had a wire recorder attached to it. I had an answering machine! Or rather Nacht did. My outgoing message was simple, "Ssspeak," but Nacht wasn't really known for his chattiness anyway.  
  
I paid a visit later to Ruthie. I entered through the roof again.  
  
"It'sss me meine Dame."  
  
"Well hello Nacht. Drink?" she was smoking a thin cigar and had a decanter on her desk.  
  
"No thank you. I have sssomething for you though," I tossed a business card on to her desk.  
  
"Your number I assume?"  
  
"Yesss. If there isss a problem like Fatsss again..or even sssomething that you think I ssshould know about."  
  
"Like what?"  
  
"Problemsss, sssituationsss, or eventssss of a ssstrange nature along with the normal ssscum."  
  
She picked up the card and nodded, "What happened to your voice?"  
  
"I wasss injured in the War."  
  
"You don't sound American."  
  
"I wasssn't then. I am now," I had to be careful, Ruthie was sharp.  
  
"Alright Nacht. I'll keep you in mind."  
  
"Thank you Frau Ruth."  
  
"Ruthie...My friends call me Ruthie."  
  
"I sssee. Thank you Ruthie."  
  
"Don't mention it."

**Chapter Twelve**

Today was the day. I went to the warehouse and dialed the number on the business card Ham Brooks had given me.  
  
"Yes?" it was that voice again. Doc Savage was a very distinctive sounding guy.  
  
"I am Nacht. Your asssssoccciate sssaid you wished to ssspeak to me Herr Doctor."  
  
"A mechanical voice?" well, he was a genius.  
  
"A trophy from the trenchesss you might sssay," I had heard he was a Great War vet and had survived a gas attack. I let him draw his own conclusions.  
  
"Whose set of trenches?"  
  
"The losssing ssside," with my excellent hearing I could tell he was tapping away on the table top with his fingertips. It was a pattern I had heard in old westerns. Probably Morse code to somebody else in the room. "You were the one that desssired thisss call. What can I do for you?"  
  
"Did you break into my associate's apartment?"  
  
"Yesss. I wasss curiousss about who wasss following my agent. Isss that unreasssonable?"  
  
"No, if that's all you were doing."  
  
I gave a low laugh which the voice changer turned into something pretty scary sounding. I'd have to remember that, "Fair enough sssussspicion. I have sssomething for you Herr Doctor asss payment for the inconvenience. The Ḥassshssshāssshīn. Their ssspokesssman isss in the city. He isss called the Voice. They are resssponssssible for the murdersss at the Mussseum and Cornell."  
  
"How do you know this?"  
  
"He told my agent...before he tried to drug and abduct them."  
  
There was a moment's silence. Then I heard Morse code tapping from a little bit further away. Obviously whoever Savage had tapped a message out to, was replying. I had to learn Morse I guessed.  
  
"This telephone number. It doesn't exist," he didn't seem surprised really. It sounded more matter of fact.  
  
"Really? It ssseemsss real enough to me. I am impressssed with the ssspeed your asssociate managed to trace thisss call though. And could you pleassse tell Herr Brooksss I apologize for the rough methodsss I usssed?"  
  
"I will. Shall we meet?"  
  
"I think not. My agent, Missss Del Rio, will come to call I'm sssure though. I hasss been a rare pleasssure ssspeaking to you Herr Doctor. I wasss never expecting thisss conversssation to take place."  
  
"It has been interesting Herr Nacht."  
  
"Auf wiedersssehen," I hung up then contacted Shrevvy. I gave the three blinks of the light which meant 'come to warehouse'.  
  
I had been busy in here. There was an office I had converted into a closet for outfits, shoes, and wigs. I had given a plumber a song and dance about needing a shower for a cleanliness obsessed boss, and they had just installed a hot water heater for 'Mr. Giles'. Burbank had converted a corner into a small telephone switching system and apparently with the cable we had run, could tap most of the phones in the city if necessary. There was a training area with mats and a pair of heavy bags, and a locked safe with various weapons and cash in it hidden behind a pile of very heavy scrap metal.   
  
The biggest purchases I had recently done were a revamp on Moe's cab, and a battered looking delivery truck. Moe's cab looked the same, but had a hidden compartment under the rear seat with a spare set of clothes and gear for Nacht.  
  
When Moe arrived I headed up to visit the Sergeant at Abercrombie and Fitch.  
  
After the floor manager left us, Jim's first words were, "So you work for Nacht..."  
  
I was surprised to hear that, "How?"  
  
"I'm from Harlem and I know about Ruthie's place. I heard the new story of the guy that took down an out-of-town gangster and escaped using something that sounded a lot like a custom build I had done."  
  
I laughed, "You got me. Fair and square. Do you have a problem with that?"  
  
"Not really. Kind of flattering my gear is being used by a masked avenger."  
  
"I'll tell him that. He really likes it...so much in fact he wants a few spares."  
  
"It will take some time you know. Maybe a month for two more?"  
  
"That's fine Sergeant. Also, did you find the pistol I was looking for?"  
  
"I surely did. How the hell did you or your boss know about it?"  
  
"He's a German expatriate I think, and still has connections in the old country."  
  
Actually I had remembered seeing this pistol in Star Wars...or at least the weapon that was based on it. Andrew's perpetual talking about stuff like that had pushed its real name into my head. The Mauser C96 Schnellfeuer.  
  
"It's a nasty piece of work," the Sergeant said as he pulled out the wooden shoulder-stock/holster and opened it. The C96 was a very distinctive looking pistol as anybody who ever saw Han Solo's blaster can agree. The Schnellfeuer version was also capable of fully-automatic fire from a ten or twenty round detachable box magazine. I hefted it. The balance was superb.  
  
"Nacht will love it," I said. "What about the other parts?"  
  
"The suppressor is here," he handed me a stubby cylinder. "Push it on the end of the barrel and twist to the right to attach. Push in and twist to the left to remove...and the wire stock is here. Folds in two places to make it go flat. And here is the shoulder holster that will hold all three pieces plus magazines."  
  
"You finished them already?"  
  
"I was inspired by what your boss did. Plus he pays really well."  
  
"And you deserve all of it," I slid him the money owed and a bonus. He counted the bills and goggled.  
  
"Fats Morrisson thought you deserved that," I said with a grin.  
  
"A gift from an upstanding businessman like Fats? How can I say no? Does your boss need anything else?"  
  
"Aside from the line launchers? A duplicate of this rig would be nice, but immediately? I don't think so, but he does keep a lot of secrets I've found," after some more instructions, I waved good bye, and left with my new weapon in an Abercrombie and Fitch hat box.  
  
Catching a cab I headed down towards the Battery where I changed cabs and headed north to Wall Street where I changed again and got out three blocks from the warehouse. I hadn't seen anybody following me, but Doc Savage was a sneaky guy not to mention the Assassins. Going into the sewers I traveled the rest of the way underground coming up against a locked hatch in the warehouse. I had replaced the old lock with one of my own so soon I was inside and ooo-ing and ahh-ing at my new pistol. I cleaned it, and tried fitting the suppressor on it. It fit perfectly. Aiming at an old oil drum filled with sand, I loaded it and pulled the trigger. There was a sharp snap that sounded like an anemic firecracker and a hole appeared in the barrel like magic. It wasn't completely silent, but it sure didn't sound like a gun shot.  
  
I squeezed off a few more rounds. The recoil was pretty intense, but I could out-muscle it. Now for the fun part, I attached the wood stock and clicked the selector from 'N' or 'Normale', to 'R' or 'Reihenfeuer'. Taking a breath, I squeezed the trigger.   
  
It fired super fast. I emptied the seven remaining rounds in less than half a second it seemed. I had had a death grip on it so the recoil didn't bounce it around and all seven hit the barrel at least.  
  
I slipped in a twenty round magazine and tried short light squeezes. Soon I was able to get only three rounds out per squeeze. Next came practicing with the wire stock and then no stock at all. Without Slayer-strength the pistol would be nearly uncontrollable when fired fully automatic.  
  
After my fun and games the barrel looked like swiss cheese and I had a big grin on my face. I carefully took it apart and cleaned the pistol and the suppressor and changed the steel wool in the suppressor like the Sergeant had shown me. After that I headed home to change for work. Betty still had a part time job to go to.

**Chapter Thirteen**

I was sitting on the roof of a warehouse being cold and annoyed. Crooks were so inconsiderate. Moe had heard a rumor that somebody had paid very well to keep all people away from a particular section of the Hudson River Docks...especially the police. So naturally, this was the kind of thing that I just had to check out. I had found a nice shadowy place beside a dormer vent window to hole up, but the wind was really nasty and I had run out of coffee. Not fun. Not fun, at all.  
  
It was about 2 AM when things started clicking. What looked like a fishing boat with the lights off was heading towards the berth in question. That Captain had serious guts. New York has Harbor Pilots for a reason, with two rivers and the Long Island Sound producing currents that would give a normal skipper nightmares.  
  
This guy knew his stuff though. A little while after it appeared out of the gloom, it was docked and people and cargo were being offloaded. They were quiet and well-organized. The guys coming off the boat were all really bundled up too. That they obviously weren't used to these temperatures, would be my first guess.  
  
I figured I wasn't going to learn much more from where I was, time to get closer. I stepped off the side and rolled to my feet after the twenty foot drop. Then it was simply a matter of moving from shadow to shadow when they weren't looking my direction until I was only about thirty feet away.  
  
They were speaking Arabic, surprise surprise, and were in the process of moving something heavy off the boat and on to a waiting truck. I really wanted to know what was in the big crate. Then I saw something weird.  
  
A dull red glow from on top of one of the buildings. Like the heat lamps you see in cheap buffets but a lot brighter. The guys on the ground didn't seem to see it, even though a couple of them were looking straight at it. I tried to remember my high school science, red meant low frequency when it came to light...like infrared low. I knew somebody was snooping with something pretty high-tech and only the fact that Slayers had an expanded visible range had let me pick it up. That pretty much nailed who it had to be. Guess I wasn't the only party crasher.  
  
I moved behind one of the sentries and yanked them out of sight. A sleeper hold later and some wire and he wasn't going anywhere. I tried to stay out of the infrared light's cone. I was pretty sure he had spotted me before I had spotted the lamp, but I wasn't going to make it easy for him.  
  
Sentry two went down as fast as sentry one. I knew that soon somebody was going to notice the mysterious vanishing minions trick, so I upped my speed to nail sentry three. Sentry four was more or less away from any cover I could grab him from. Time to get creative.  
  
I had some heavy fishing sinkers tied to a length of rayon cord as a bolo. I clipped another piece of rope to it and with a spin launched it at the guy's feet and ankles. As it wrapped I yanked and his chin hit the ground as his legs went horizontal. I had him reeled in and out cold before his buddies noticed what had happened. The guys I had taken out had been watching the exit route for the truck. It was now the entrance route for Nacht.  
  
Glancing up I saw that the red light was gone and I grinned behind my scarf. It looked like the Assassins were about to get some more playmates. I was cool with that, there were easily plenty to go round.  
  
I had moved so that I was behind some crates less than ten feet from the truck when I felt a large presence behind me and recognized the smell of gun oil and ozone I had picked up at the library.  
  
A large bronzed hand appeared in front of me holding a couple of glass balls filled with some kind of smoky oily liquid. It mimed throwing them. I took a guess and put my hand over my mouth and received a thumbs up. I gave the thumbs up back and took a deep breath and the hand flicked the balls out where they shattered with very quiet pops. The group that had loaded the crate wavered and collapsed where they stood. While the remaining guards looked around wildly. I drew my pistol and shot out the work lights plunging the entire end of the wharf in darkness.  
  
"Ana lylh! Ana al'edab alkhasss bk!" 'I am the night. I am your doom!' seemed like the right thing to say as I came out swinging.  
  
I had decided to keep my fighting style as Nacht as Euro-Centric as I could. That meant Boxing and Savate with a little Pankration thrown in for flavor. The first guy got a gastrizein, the straight kick to the stomach, followed by a series of jabs, then a right cross and then he was down for the count.  
  
Savage had slipped on a funky pair of goggles with one of his infrared projectors on the side, and was beating the holy hell out of two at once. For somebody so big he was amazingly fast and he had more physical strength than I have ever seen in a normal human. Other fighting had broken out and I saw Monk picking up a goon and using him as a club on two other goons. Next to him was Ham with his sword cane in one hand and that weird pistol in the other. There was a third guy with them who was taller than Savage and had the biggest hands I had ever seen. He would punch a guy and they would just fall down. No fuss no muss.  
  
I scooped up the first guy's scimitar and disarmed the minion who was heading towards me before dropping and spinning into a foutte bas roundhouse kick against his knee. He went sprawling. I was up again and heading towards the truck's cab. I ducked out of the way as an arm stuck itself out the passenger side window and sprayed a tarry mist which smelled like almonds.  
  
"Cyanide," Savage rumbled. I hadn't even heard him move up.  
  
I nodded and shot the front tires. There was no effect. "Sssolidsss? Sssmart."  
  
A submachine gun opened up from the cab as the truck lurched forward. Savage and I dived for cover from the rapid fire barrage. Building speed it headed for the entrance. I was up and running with Savage next to me, then more automatic weapons fire erupted from the boat. I did a running hands free front flip and, as I was upside down facing the water, returned fire before landing and continuing to run. I must have hit something as the shooting stopped, but the flip had robbed me of some speed and the truck was accelerating. I flipped the selector to 'R' and kneeling, squeezed off the rest of my magazine at the fleeing vehicle. Savage had drawn his machine pistol as well and was shooting. I was pretty sure all our rounds hit, but to no luck. It was gone.  
  
I started to run, quickly outdistancing Savage, and keyed the radio, "Truck heading eassst from Main Gate. I am in pursssuit. Be careful. They are ssseriousssly well armed!"  
  
"Got it Boss," Shrevvy replied, "I see them...and there you are."  
  
I jumped onto the running board and slipped inside. "Sssavage and hisss guysss are right behind me."  
  
"Doc Savage?! Oh Christ Betty, we are so in it now!"  
  
"Don't worry Moe. He'sss," I clicked off the voice changer, "not after us. Not right now at least." As I had been talking I had slipped off my hat and scarf and had pulled a long blonde wig from under the seat. I saw Savage's gold car streak past shortly afterwards, not paying any attention to a cab taking someone home.  
  
"Want me t'follow?" Shrevvy asked.  
  
"No. He probably has some kind of tracker on them...which reminds me..." I carefully went over my Nacht outfit and found three small devices on my coat, one on my pants, and one very strange chemical smell on my boots. I rechecked and found one more device on my hat.  
  
Knowing the scale of bugs in the 21st century made it a hell of lot easier to find them in the 1930s. These were so small that current logic would have said they couldn't have existed. Fortunately I wasn't bound by current logic.  
  
Carefully crushing them I scattered the remains out the window. The boots were going to need some care cleaning I was sure. I had no idea what the smell was, but I was sure it was one of Savage's tricks.  
  
Moe pulled into the warehouse and I walked over to the teletype machine in the corner. In a few seconds I had sent a request from the New York Police Department's 4th Precinct for all officers to be on the lookout for a certain truck, noting that Doc Savage was in pursuit. Burbank was an expert.  
  
Yawning, I took a closer look at the sword I had gotten. It was a good quality thin bladed scimitar with ornate engraving on the hilt. It really was a pretty piece with nice balance. I would definitely hang on to this. Finally I slipped out the side door and made my way home.  
  
It had been a long night.

**Chapter Fourteen**

I figured now that Doc was aimed at the Assassins, it was all over but the inevitable screaming. So the next day was spent as Miss Del Rio or Betty ferrying Nacht's business cards to all the people that I had helped over the past year. I had tried to keep track of them, being severely lacking in friends in this era, and they seemed to appreciate 'Betty's' concern...most of them figuring it to be the quirk of a 'small-town' girl from Alaska. So I might have been a little rushed the first time I needed a cover story...  
  
Anyway, there was one guy I needed to get a hold of in particular. I was dressed as Mona for this one.  
  
"Hello Mister Vincent."  
  
"Do I know you?"  
  
"No, not really. Not like this at least," I had found Harry about to jump off a bridge. He had lost his job and his girl back home in Michigan had just Dear John'ed him. He was on the Brooklyn Bridge railing staring at the water. Betty had helped him down and bought him a cup of coffee and he had spilled his sob story.  
  
I am now and have always been a sucker for that kind of thing.  
  
I had put him up in a hotel, mainly on instinct, and told him to start building a rep as a man about town. It was really at that moment that the idea of something like 'Nacht' had come to me. In the 30s, a woman couldn't do much overtly, but a mysterious man? I would need somebody like Harry; personable, charming, handsome, smart, to escort me to various high end soirées. I remembered some of my history classes and the level of corruption in the 1930s seemed to be pretty well equivalent to the 2000s. I would need to mix at the high levels as well as the low.  
  
"Betty?" he gasped  
  
"Shhh. I'm Mona Del Rio when I look like this Mister Vincent. Ready to do some real work?"  
  
He nodded, "I'm pretty well known as a salesman for an Alaskan mining company now. I hit the nice restaurants, catch some popular shows, wear good suits...I just hate feeling useless."  
  
"Alright then. I trust you Harry, more than you will believe. I've been keeping tabs on you and you've got a rep as a good guy. If you didn't, we wouldn't be having this conversation. Come on."  
  
We headed outside, and like clockwork Shrevvy's cab pulled up. After we climbed in, I told Shrevvy, "The warehouse."  
  
"Got it boss."  
  
"Harry Vincent, meet Moe Shrevnitz. He works for me too. Shrevvy, meet Harry."  
  
Moe reached back and shook Harry's hand.  
  
"Have you heard of something or someone called Nacht?" I asked Harry.  
  
"Nacht? That's Bosch for 'Night' right?"  
  
I nodded.  
  
"Actually, yes I have. I was at the opera last week and I saw Commissioner Wainwright talking to his nephew. Said something about Nacht beating the holy he...excuse me, daylights out some guy named Morrison and being whispered about in the criminal element. I had no idea what he was talking about at the time though."  
  
"Excellent, Nacht is getting a rep," I grinned in the rear view mirror at Shrevvy.  
  
"It looks like it's goin' t'work Boss," he said then shook his head, "Just don't get yerself killed."  
  
"Not planning on it."  
  
We pulled up and into the warehouse. I tossed Harry one of the spare keys.  
  
"What is this place?" he asked.  
  
I picked up the voice changer and clicked it on, "Nacht'sss lair, and I'm Nacht."  
  
"What the...?"  
  
"Betty isn't my real name anymore than Mona is. I'm from...well, let's say a place where I learned to take back the night from those that would use it to prey on others. I'm a soldier, much like you were in the Great War, only my battlefield was the streets, and my opponents were at least as devious and dangerous as any New York gangster...Maybe weirder, but considering the fact that I've been running into the Ḥashshāshīn, even that isn't as much a sure thing.  
  
"I am Nacht and I have many friends in this city, most of which only know Betty as the girl who was there to save them. I will never force anyone to help me, and I only requessst aid...never demand it, and only if I'm sssure they are fine with it."  
  
As I had been talking I had slipped into my changing room and came out dressed as Nacht.  
  
"Wow, how many people know that you are...?"  
  
"Counting you? Four," I was pretty sure Burbank had figured it out.  
  
"Why are telling me?"  
  
Becaussse," I turned off the voice changer and took off the hat coat and scarf, "I need some people I trust absolutely. I'm pretty good at reading people and that cup of coffee and your story during it...Well, that made up my mind."  
  
"So I would be?"  
  
"Camouflage and an assistant. I know that you've been as low as it's possible to get. You were a decorated soldier, you can think on your feet, and you have no particular ties to anybody in New York."  
  
"Camouflage?"  
  
"You get an invitation to a party and you bring your date...Miss Del Rio or Miss Giles, or..." I trailed off.  
  
"Who will look at the hot tomato aside for the obvious...?"  
  
"Moe Shrevnitz!" he gave me an unapologetic grin. I laughed, "And yes, that was my train of thought actually."  
  
Harry looked slightly shell-shocked so I poked him in the arm, "You still with us?"  
  
"You're a masked avenger."  
  
"Uh yes, I guess I am. Are you in or out?"  
  
"I have a choice?"  
  
"It's more than I had," I replied. "Of course you do. If you're out, I'll pay you to leave New York and set up wherever you like."  
  
"And if I'm in?"  
  
"Danger, adventure, and the good fight...plus a paycheck."  
  
He smiled, "I'd like to give back."  
  
"You will, trust me."  
  
"Then I'm in."  
  
"Excellent. Your first job is to deliver the rest of these cards to these people. Say 'The woman who saved you sent me', and tell them to call this number if something really bad is happening. Moe, could you drive him after you drop me off at the Empire State Building," I stepped behind the screen and began to change back into my Mona look.  
  
"Oh no Mona..." Shrevvy moaned, "You're not going to visit him are you?"  
  
"Well yeah. Seems like the neighborly thing to do, and if he blows my cover right there it will at least be in private."  
  
"Who's him?" Harry asked.  
  
"Doc Savage," Moe moaned again, "Our boss has a death wish."  
  
Moe dropped me off at the ESB and I looked up at the towering building. My destination was the 86th floor. Savage's office and labs according to the popular press. I walked into the lobby and saw the bronze colored elevator doors. There was no operator, just two buttons; 'Lobby' and '86'. I pressed the one marked '86'.  
  
The doors shut and the car started heading up. When the doors opened I was in a corridor with a small sign indicating the way to 'Reception'.  
  
It was nicely appointed room with a beautifully inlaid table and what looked like a TV in one corner. No antenna, so I assumed that Savage had closed circuit with the early cameras of the time. Seated at the table was a scrawny looking guy in a nice suit. He actually looked really pale and slightly ill.  
  
"Mona Del Rio?" he said a normalish voice.  
  
"Yes Mister..?"  
  
"Roberts. Thomas Roberts. I work for Doc."  
  
"A pleasure Mister Roberts."  
  
"Call me Long Tom."  
  
"A pleasure then...Long Tom," I smiled at him and saw the beginnings of a blush form.  
  
"Yes, well. Doc would like to talk to you."  
  
"I'm sure he would. After you?"  
  
"Yeah," he led me out another door down a windowed hallway with a great view of the city to an amazingly packed library. Monk, Ham, and the guy with the huge fists were there along with a tall, thin man with white hair.  
  
"Heya Mona!" Monk said in a happy voice.  
  
"Well hello to you Monk, and you Ham."  
  
The lawyer looked at me and gave a frown, "Don't even look at the simian, it just encourages him."  
  
"Can it shyster. Yer just jealous because the lady said hello to me first," Monk's frog-like face looked truly smug. The big guy with the big hands stood up and walked over. He was actually taller than Savage, and had a sad looking face.  
  
"Hello, I'm John Renwick, and the other fellow there is," he pointed at the white-haired man, "William Littlejohn."  
  
"Just Johnny please," Littlejohn spoke up, "A pleasure to meet you Miss Del Rio." He had a nice smile and reminded me of Giles as he wiped his glasses clean.  
  
"Call me Mona. So you're the Fabulous Five?"  
  
"We have received that classificatory sobriquet from many unaffiliated companies of individuals," Johnny replied.  
  
"He means yes," Long Tom spoke up, "He just finds it physically painful to use one syllable, when twenty or a hundred and twenty will do."  
  
"I...see?"  
  
At that moment Savage entered the room, "Miss Del Rio."  
  
"Mister Savage," I offered my hand to shake.  
  
"Why are you here?" his voice was amazing, but there was no trace of emotion in it. It was completely calm and controlled.  
  
"On orders of my employer."  
  
"Nacht?"  
  
I nodded.  
  
"I saw him fight last night," Monk spoke up. "That flip and shoot was somethin' else."  
  
"I'll tell him you liked it. I however, missed that fight."  
  
Doc spoke again, "What does he want?"  
  
"To know whether or not you stopped that truck."  
  
"I did, with the assistance of a police roadblock responding to an alert that seemingly sprang from thin air."  
  
I smiled inwardly, "And?"  
  
"Three men were apprehended. All of which killed themselves immediately on capture."  
  
"How?"  
  
"All by poison. Two with pills and one with an artificial tooth."  
  
"Poison makes sense with the Ḥashshāshīn being involved. But two different methods? Did the other two have a false tooth as well?"  
  
"No," he looked at me curiously, "Would you like to see the bodies?"  
  
"You have them here?"  
  
"Of course," he turned and went out the door he had entered by. I followed him through a sophisticated lab and into a small operating room.  
  
"There," he pointed at the three tables. Each with a sheet covered body. Pulling back the first one I saw a dark skinned man with a blueish tint to his lips.  
  
"Suffocation?" I asked. "Cyanide?"  
  
Savage raised his eyebrows slightly, "Yes. How could you tell?"  
  
"I smell almonds."  
  
"Your sense of smell is exceptional."   
  
"Not really. Just highly refined," I said calmly.  
  
"Ah."  
  
I pulled back the second sheet and saw the same type of guy. The third guy on the other hand..."Huh?"  
  
"Yes he is Chinese. He was the one with the false tooth," the third man's face was contorted in a painful looking snarl.  
  
"Different poison?"  
  
Savage nodded, "Something like strychnine I believe, but rather more exotic. Monk and I will be analyzing it."  
  
"Were there any other Chinese on the docks?"  
  
"No and the ship made an abrupt getaway after your employer fired on it," Savage sounded very faintly miffed.  
  
"Thank you," I handed him a Nacht business card, "This one does not have a tracker in it."  
  
Savage at least had the decency to like slightly embarrassed as well as surprised.  
  
"How did he recognize what it was?"  
  
I shrugged, "That's why he's the boss and I'm not. All this radio and the like is beyond me."  
  
"But not him?"  
  
"I guess not. I have to be leaving now."  
  
"I could make you stay."  
  
"You could try," I smiled sweetly at him and then slipped into a Hakko Ryu jiu-jitsu throw. As this style wouldn't even be invented for a few more years, I was reasonably certain he wouldn't see it coming. He didn't and landed on his back. He was rolling up and out into a defensive crouch as soon as I released his wrist. I looked at him and straightened up, "Like I said, you could try."  
  
He stood up and looked at me, "Japanese. A Jiu-jitsu variant. One I haven't seen."  
  
"A girl has to have her secrets. Good day Mister Savage," I walked out and headed for the elevator.

**Chapter Fifteen**

I made it out of the building safely and headed for Grand Central Station. Once inside I found a ladies room and checked myself over for electronics.  
  
Surprisingly enough there were none for a change, but there was a weird chemical smell on my shoes. Wiping them off, I saw that I had stepped in some clear sticky liquid. Probably in Savage's lab. The funny thing is I remembered the place being spotless? Shrugging, I left the ladies room ducked down behind a group of secretary types. I had faith that Savage would try to tail me again which is why I had headed towards the busiest train station in the world. Once I was in the milling crowd, I made my way to the Vanderbilt Avenue exit as I had entered in the 42nd Street doors. I caught a cab to the Upper West Side then took the subway back home. As I waited on the platform I saw Ham and Doc trying to look inconspicuous while spraying some liquid on the ground. Even as far away as I was, I could pick up a nasty stink.  
  
I had to give him credit; Chemical tracker is clever. The goo I tried to wipe off must react with that liquid he was spraying to create instant giveaway stench. I jumped down into the tunnel and started running at full speed. In a very short period of time I had caught up to the previous train and slipping beside it as it pulled into the next stop, jumped up between two of the cars and slid the pass thru door open to get inside. I got out a stop early than I normally would have, and waited behind a pillar to see if they would catch up.   
  
There was no trace of pursuit, but I did not take Savage's abilities lightly. Heading to a maintenance door, I twisted the knob until the lock snapped, then slipped inside. I had been under this part of Manhattan recently laying cable, so I was pretty sure which way to go. Eventually I found myself in the sewers near my apartment and I came up from my favorite secluded manhole. Entering the warehouse I checked my messages.  
  
"Nacht. This is Savage. Your agent Miss Del Rio is quite efficient. I would like to meet you. You have my number."  
  
I had expected something like that to be honest.  
  
"Hello Nacht, this is Ruthie. I heard something you might be interested in. Stop by tonight."   
  
Well now, that was interesting. I called Moe's radio.  
  
"Yeah Boss?"  
  
"I'm going to need a ride uptown tonight. By the way, how did Harry do?"  
  
"This is Harry," his voice cut in, "It went swell. Moe is giving me a ride home right now."   
  
"Alright. By the way Harry, are you going to the Police Association Fundraiser tonight?"  
  
"I could, why?"  
  
"Go there and make friends with Commissioner Wainwright and his nephew....uh, Lamont Cranston. He's like a big game hunter and explorer. "  
  
"Any particular reason?"  
  
"Not really, just start getting in their circle of friends. Information is power you know."  
  
"You going to be my date?"  
  
"Not this time sadly. I have a meeting with Big Ruthie."  
  
"The Harlem Madam?"  
  
"Why yes."  
  
"You know some interesting people."  
  
"Story of my life Harry. Moe, pick me up at the warehouse about 9."  
  
"Got it Boss."  
  
I took a shower and dressed as Betty went out to a diner to get some dinner. By the time I was done snow was starting to fall. Staring out the window, looking at the snowflakes coming down as the sun set it felt almost peaceful. I knew this feeling would not last.  
  
I spent the rest of my time waiting, working out on the heavy bag.   
  
"Boss, where the heck did you learn t'fight like that?" Moe had been watching me for last ten minutes.  
  
"Here and there. I was told I had potential." I toweled my face dry. "Harry off?"  
  
"Yeah, I dropped him off twenty minutes ago. Why ya seeing Ruthie?"  
  
"She called me," I walked over and played him the message.  
  
"She sounds..interested in ya," Moe said with a grin.  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"That tone of voice. I heard it a lot when I was yer age. Maggie used it on me."  
  
"If it's that tone of voice, I'm going to pretend I didn't hear," I said definitively.  
  
"I was just sayin'," Moe replied with a laugh, "Shouldn't you be gettin' ready anyways?"  
  
"Yeah I should. You're a very bad man Mister Shrevnitz."  
  
"I may have heard that before too."  
  
I got into my Nacht outfit and soon we were heading back up to Harlem. When I got to Ruthie's place, I found her wearing a mink coat and standing on the snow-covered roof.  
  
"I thought I'd take the air as I waited," she said, looking up at the snowy sky.  
  
"It'sss a beautiful night for that Ruthie."  
  
"Nacht, what does your real voice sound like?"  
  
"Thisss isss my voice."  
  
"It sounds like a machine, or a broken radio."  
  
"I need asssissstance to ssspeak. Ssso yesss, it isss a machine."  
  
"I see," I'd seen...I'd used that tone of voice before. The one where a guy is in sooo much trouble until he makes with the apologies. "Did I offend you?"  
  
She looked slightly startled then recovered very quickly, "Oh no. To business?"  
  
I nodded and she led the way inside. I helped her off with her coat and hung it on a the rack by the door. She went to her office's main door and told the guard to, "...fetch Du Mei." A little while later a Chinese girl about twenty or so entered.  
  
"Du Mei, this is Nacht. He won't hurt you in fact he's the guy that busted Fats Morrison here."  
  
"A pleasure to meet you sir."  
  
"No sssir, jussst Nacht isss fine. Ruthie?" I looked askance at the madam.  
  
"Mei, tell Nacht what you told me."  
  
"I live in Chinatown and lately there has been a great upheaval in one of the sew shops."  
  
"Sssweatshop?"  
  
"Yes," she looked nervous. "Strange men not from the neighborhood have been hanging around. Very dangerous looking. Last night a truck arrived with a crate. It was very heavy as it took six men to carry it."  
  
It came to me that Savage had never mentioned what happened to the crate.  
  
"Du Mei. Were sssome of the men not Chinessse? Darker ssskinned and wearing heavy coatsss?"  
  
"Yes! You know who they are?"  
  
"Possssibly. Where isss thisss building?"  
  
"Off of Mott Street," she gave me the address.  
  
"Thank you Du Mei. I appreciate your asssisstance," I handed her two ten dollar bills.  
  
Ruthie looked over at the girl, "You can go Mei, and keep your mouth shut about this."  
  
Du Mei nodded and slipped out.  
  
Ruthie lit a thin cigar and looked over at me, "Going to break some heads?"  
  
"If required. Thank you Ruthie...for keeping me informed."  
  
"You're a strange cat Nacht."  
  
"Sssso I've been told."  
  
"Sure I can't interest you in a night-cap...after you're finished of course."  
  
"I am not sure you would find me to your tassstesss."  
  
"I think I should be the judge of that."  
  
I laughed, "I'll get back to you."  
  
"You'd better, Mister Dark and Mysterious."  
  
I headed up to the roof had called Shrevvy. I had a party to crash.

**Chapter Sixteen**

I honestly hadn't spent much time in Manhattan's Chinatown. Not in this era at least. I had visited it a couple of times in the 2000s, mainly looking for cool weapons or interesting fighting techniques. Two things Slayers are always hunting for along with awesome clothes and the evils that haunt the night.  
  
Shrevvy pulled up about two blocks away in Little Italy. He figured that the 'bent-nose' guys would keep any other gangs off their turf, so there were less likely to be prying eyes at my arrival. At least no eyes that would tip off my new besties and spoil the surprise.  
  
I was out of the cab and up onto the rooftops in a flash. Shrevvy didn't even stop, just slowed down a little. Little Italy seemed slightly organized and restrained, but the streets of Chinatown were bustling. All the hand laundries were hard at work , and the markets were getting their deliveries for the next day. With all the commotion, I was reasonably sure nobody was looking up.  
  
Peering down from above the streetlights I watched the ebb and flow of people on the street. It was actually pretty easy to play 'spot the guard', as they were the ones with the bored and angry expressions as well as not really moving from their excellent vantage points. I counted fifteen. Whoever was behind this was heavy on the overkill, too bad it really didn't do much good against somebody like me.  
  
I looked around the rooftops as well. The target building had a couple of buddies on it. Granted it would have been tricky to get on top of for a normal person, but still, even I would have put more than two guards on the roof access. I pulled out my line launcher and loaded a spike. After snugging the line around a convenient stand-pipe I sighted in, and waited for any audio diversion. After a few minutes somebody fired up a truck that started backfiring. Perfect.  
  
The spike smoothly embedded itself right under the building's roof. I pulled reasonably hard with all my weight and it showed no signs of coming loose. Good enough. I was soon swinging hand over hand across the street. My dark outfit and the glare of the street lights shielding me from below, the fact that nobody would be crazy enough to try this and general boredom protecting me from above.  
  
When I got to the building I dangled from the half-buried spike with one hand while pulling out a small mirror with the other. A slight one-armed pull-up and I was able to get a glimpse of the guard's positions. One was facing away and one was turning. This would work. I flipped up onto the roof and pulled out a pair of police batons from their pocket on the inside of my coat.  
  
It was a quick run-up and a love tap and one was down. The other heard him fall and was turning back, sword in hand. It was a 9-ring Chinese Broadsword, and he was standing in an open low stance. He was ready to rumble with a posture like that.  
  
I dropped into an escrima low stance, one knee on the ground and the swordsman looked at me strangely before sidestepping and swinging at me from the side. I shoulder monkey-rolled and kicked the flat of his blade, guiding it into the tarpaper, before swinging at his kneecap. He grinned and nodded as he slipped aside from my strike. I handrolled my sticks as he dropped back into his stance. He was pretty good.   
  
Sadly for him, so was I, and I was also a Slayer.  
  
I kicked up the speed and started a Sinawali attack-parry combination pattern. With two sticks traveling at ludicrous speed, unless you've run into it before you are going to get hit. I switched to a redondo with my left stick and kept up random abanico fan strikes with my right. He was parrying like mad, looked like some form of Choy Gar. Definitely a Southern Style with the short choppy strikes and power-on offense. Heavy on rapid footwork too.  
  
I aimed for the disarm and got him to drop his sword. He went straight to claw strikes and front kicks. I just took the first kick on the outside of my leg, and dropping one stick grabbed his hand before flinging him bodily into a wall. He stopped moving after that impact.  
  
I scooped up my stick and tucked the pair of batons away. After recovering my line and the spike, I wired the two guards together and headed for the roof stairs. The door was unlocked, not really surprising as the roof guards had actually been pretty good, and I headed down.  
  
There wasn't much noise on the upper floors so I figured the action was lower. I opened a door on the second floor and found myself on a storage mezzanine high above the sewing floor. Down below the machines and worktables had been pushed to one side and a large electrical thing was being built. I say electrical because there were cables and the missing urn was set next to it. People were yelling in Chinese and laborers were hauling things back and forth. I looked for the guy with the flashiest clothes.  
  
And there he was...He was wearing an old style Chinese robe made out of green and gold silk and had the round hat and long pigtail like some kind of period stereotype. His fancy hat even had a hat-pin with a huge ruby on it.  
  
I took a closer look. The Chinese here were all dressed well. The ones that were probably Ḥashshāshīn were wearing casual clothes and there was a third group doing all the heavy work. They looked kinda like the guys I had learned escrima from. Filipinos maybe?  
  
Whatever. The guy in the fancy hat was the boss, I needed that urn, and everything else needed to get broken. Works for me.  
  
I fitted the wire-stock and the suppressor to my pistol, set it for single shot and aimed at the biggest cable. Over the noise and bustle in here, nobody noticed the two rapid aimed shots even after the cable erupted in a fountain of sparks. That, people noticed. I shifted my aim and squeezed off two more rounds into something that looked complicated and fragile. It could have been a super-Art Deco espresso maker for all I knew, but it was big and shiny and blew up really well.  
  
The Chinese all started pulling weapons, the Ḥashshāshīn headed to watch the doors and pulled weapons, and the lackeys tried to stop the sparks. The lights went out after some genius decided to shut down the power and I took that as my turn to join the fun.  
  
I dropped down and started beating my way through the milling throng. My first goal was the boss, then the urn. Mister Boss had been standing at the sewing foreman's old desk when I had last seen him, so that was my destination.  
  
It was easier going over than through so I was leaping from one crate to another. It was so chaotic in here that I could have been moonwalking through, and I don't think anybody would have noticed. When I got to the desk, I saw Mister Boss with his hand on a phone, preparing to call.  
  
"Going sssomewhere?"  
  
"Nacht!" he snarled at me before he yelled something in Chinese and the guys in the nice suits turned to face me.  
  
"That isss my name, and yoursss?"  
  
"You do not deserve to know."  
  
"That isss quite alright. We will have time to chat....later," I ducked two thrown knives and caught the third by the blade before returning it to sender. Now was not the time to hold back on my strength or speed and I shifted from Boxing to Savate to Pankration as I proceeded to beat them bloody. It had been a long time since I was in such a desperate fight and my inner slayer was ecstatic.  
  
Bodies were flying everywhere and the sheer number of my opponents meant that they were constantly getting in each other's way. The quasi-darkness didn't help them much either. Someone yelled something in Chinese and my opponents all hit the floor. I jumped straight up and grabbed an overhead beam just as a pair of sub-machine guns opened up. These guys weren't screwing around. I heard the bolts clock back and swung down into one of the gunmen's face, then threw his weapon at full speed at the other gunman. He went down hard too.  
  
Mister Boss had used that respite to make a break for it and I lost him in the chaos. In fact, I had barely enough time to grab the urn and head for the stairs before people started to stand again. I had made it to the second floor before the lights came on again. There was more shouting, gunshots, and knives then. Finally making it to the roof I used some of my rope to rig a sling for the urn and jumped down two stories to the building next door.  
  
"Hey Moe!"  
  
"Makin' new friends?"  
  
"You could sssay that," I dodged a spear. "Where are you?"  
  
"Right about where you left me reading th' Racing Form."  
  
"Ssstart the cab, I'll be arriving in a hurry."  
  
"I'm looking northbound."  
  
"Thanksss Ssshrevvy!"  
  
Some of these guys were really good at rooftop chases. If I didn't have an urn I needed to protect I could have outrun them easily. With something fragile like that, it wasn't. I crashed through a window one floor lower as I leaped across a sidestreet, and battered my way with a shoulder ram through the apartment door. When I saw the window at the far end of the hall I sped up and spinning, went through it backwards, cradling the urn. I plunged two stories to the street and landed in a scraping roll on my shoulder. I was so going to feel that tomorrow.  
  
Kipping up I saw Moe's cab and began to sprint. I jumped on the rear bumper and hung on for dear life as he hit the gas. The last I saw of my pursuers was a small crowd forming behind us.  
  
I didn't get the guy, but I did have the urn...whatever it was.

**Chapter Seventeen**

I had packed snow on the throbbing bruise that was my back and shoulder. After sending Shrevvy home I had locked up the warehouse and traveled underground back to my apartment. The urn was sitting on my worktable looking all fancy and esoteric. I scowled at it. It didn't respond.  
  
My next job was to get a cup of cocoa and some sleep. I felt like hell after that crashing impact with the ground. After a hot bath of course. Maybe that would help.  
  
I work up see the city covered in glittering white. The snow, despite being early, had been impressive. Building supers, including the one 'Mister Harris' had hired for my building, were outside shoveling away as kids had a snowball fight in the street. Hell's Kitchen looked pretty awesome at the moment. Nowhere near as much gray and depression.  
  
Thinking about what my next plans were I called Ruthie.  
  
"Yes?" a deep male voice replied.  
  
"Thisss isss Nacht."  
  
"One moment sir."  
  
After a short wait the woman herself appeared on the phone, "Skipped the nightcap I see," she said dryly.  
  
"Sssadly I wasss busssy. Isss there any way I can thank you? The information Du Mei provided turned out to be very important."  
  
"Come to dinner. Without that scarf or hat. Just as yourself."  
  
"You wish to sssee me?" I giggled slightly inside at the thought, but having somebody like Ruthie on my side could be unbelievably useful. "Let me consssider it."  
  
"Alright, but not too long hear?"  
  
"Very clearly," I replied and she hung up.  
  
As though this charade couldn't get any weirder...  
  
I decided to make another phone call, "Hello Maggie! Is that lazy husband of yours around?"  
  
"Hi Betty! When you coming over for dinner again?"  
  
"I hope soon. Can I talk to Shrevvy?"  
  
"He just finished shoveling the walk, hold on... _Moe! Betty's calling you!_ "  
  
"Hey Betty! How are you feeling?"  
  
"Better. My back will be a lovely bruise color for a little while though. Could you pick up the Professor and bring him to my apartment?"  
  
"Sure. When?"  
  
"Tomorrow say? You're doing things at home today obviously."  
  
He groaned, "After the walk I have to fix the furnace..."  
  
"You need any money for new stuff?" I asked.  
  
"Nah, I'm good. Bought a new dress for Maggie with that bonus from that Fat out of town fare. Still have some left."  
  
"We'll if you need any, let me know. Alright?"  
  
"Sure Betty, no problem. I'll bring the Prof around tomorrow about noon?"  
  
"Sounds good, I'll call him and let him know you're coming. See you Moe."  
  
"Bye Betty."  
  
I hung up and headed to my safe. Counting the money I had left over from Fats, I was down to about ten grand. The rents from the few apartments I let out, covered this building's operating costs, but I was going to need a lot more money. Time to shake down the shakedown artists.  
  
I wouldn't really be able to make a move until after dark, so I spent the rest of the day soaking and stretching so my muscles wouldn't tighten up. Along with fixing my coat which had gotten some nasty cuts in it.  
  
When night came I was pretty much back to full speed. It's not like I had actually broken anything after all.  
  
Hell's Kitchen because of its location near the docks was a notorious hive of scum and villainy. God, I'm quoting Andrew again. There were a lot of various mob types that had moved in during Prohibition and decided to stay after the Great Experiment had ended. They now made their cash by smuggling, gambling, and the protection racket. I had followed a number of these guys as they made their shakedown rounds and now figured out what bars/garages/businesses at least eight of the groups used as their headquarters. I hadn't made any moves on them so far, but it was now the Christmas season...time for giving.  
  
Dooley 'Too-Tall' Wilcox was a former prizefighter and enforcer that had decided to strike off solo from the Luciano Mob. The Mob had let him go as long as he promised to stick to his old neighborhood. Surprisingly he had followed the rules and now ran the largest independent gang in Hell's Kitchen. He wouldn't touch smuggling or gambling because he was afraid of stepping on the Sicilians' toes, but protection was fine. His crew was suspected in starting several unfortunate fires of businesses that may not have been up on their secondary insurance payments to him.  
  
The Wilcox Gang was based out of a bar and pool hall next to the docks. I had learned through the local gossip that Too-Tall had his apartment right above the pool hall and that he kept his money there. He hadn't trusted banks since the Crash of '29 apparently. Not surprising. Most people in this era had a hard time trusting banks.  
  
Moving across snow-covered roofs was tricky. It was way too easy to slip, fall, and mess myself up. When I got to the appropriate roof I had to decide to go in quiet or loud. Why not both?  
  
I pried open a window next to a fire escape and slipped through the dark and empty apartment. Obviously Too-Tall did not want neighbors. I could smell booze and cheap cigars in the hallway outside. There was a groan in a floorboard as somebody shifted their weight and the apartment door creaked as it was leaned against. Simple enough.  
  
I ripped the door open and had snaked an arm around the leaner's throat and dragged him inside before he could blink. He was unconscious and lying on the floor immediately afterwards. The hallway was dimly lit and I could see a sliver of light coming from underneath only one door. There was a hell of a party coming from downstairs. Somebody had the radio cranked up and I heard laughter and cheerful arguing over the swing music.  
  
Using the background noise as cover I crept down to the door with the light. Something about it seemed weird, like it was a trap. Fortunately I didn't need to touch the knob to open it. A side kick ripped it off its hinges and a fat blue spark jumped from the door knob to the strike plate.  
  
"Electrified? Ssseriousssly?" I hissed as I entered.  
  
Too-Tall was in there with a particularly curvy lady of the evening. I touched the brim of my hat and nodded to her as I ducked Too-Tall's first punch. He had been a professional fighter and was at least 6' 7" and over three hundred pounds. He had a long reach and excellent footwork.  
  
"Sssorry to interrupt your evening Herr Wilcox, but I believe you have sssomething of mine," I blocked a pair of left jabs and pushed aside a nasty right hook.  
  
"You're Nacht aint'cha? I heard what youse did t'Morrison and his boys."  
  
"Ah, I am famousss I sssee. Give me all your money and you will not be injured then."  
  
  
"I don't think so. No lousy German is gettin' my money!"  
  
"Pity. Thisss will hurt I'm afraid," I slipped by and rapped him on the kidneys. Not hard enough to injure, but hard enough to hurt a lot.  
  
He growled and with a sweeping roundhouse connected with my still bruised shoulder. I hissed in pain.  
  
"So yer not unstoppable? Fine then. This is gonna be fun..."  
  
As he swung I did the long splits and grabbed his arm as it whizzed over my head, allowing him to pull me back up to my feet. Still hanging on, I toe kicked him in the armpit, before splitting the skin on his forehead with a heel strike from my other boot.  
  
He thrashed his arm trying to pry me off it. His other arm wasn't working so well after the nerve strike to the armpit, and he was having trouble seeing from the blood pouring into his eyes.   
  
"You sunuvabitch! I'm gonna rip yer damn Dutch balls off and feed them t'stray dogs!"  
  
"Whatever," I replied as I let go then launched to a forearm smash to the jaw. His head snapped back and he grinned at me through a red mask of blood.  
  
He plowed into me all brute force and no finesse. He was big, heavy and strong and obviously experienced in using all three of those things in combat. He also had an incredible tolerance for pain as his arm that I had paralyzed was working again.  
  
He forced me against the wall with his bulk and got a grip on my arm. I reached over and started breaking fingers. I got two, his left pinkie and ring finger before he got the message and let go before headbutting me.   
  
I felt the wall behind me crack from the force of my skull bouncing off of it and my head rang from the impact. This guy was going to need extreme methods to take down. First up were two body blows angling up under the ribs. They froze his diaphragm for a second and as he caught his breath I knife handed him across the throat. He stumbled back gagging and choking giving me space to do a front handspring and catch him under the jaw. He collapsed in a heap and I regained my feet breathing hard. His squeeze looked at me in shock and I put my finger to my scarf, "Sssss, he needsss hissss ressst you know Fraulein."  
  
It sounded like the party downstairs was still going full swing. The lady looked at me and nodded before carefully getting her clothes back on. As she was getting dressed I searched the apartment. He didn't strike me as being a mental giant and I quickly found the safe inside his closet. It was a small one weighing only a couple of hundred pounds or so, I simply picked it up and carried it out on my shoulder. His party guest's mouth dropped open as she saw me leave with the metal box and she quickly made her way towards the stairs I hurried out the same way I entered and was soon running across the roofs before someone spotted me. Within half an hour the safe was secure in the warehouse and I was back home soaking again.

**Chapter Eighteen**

I spent the next morning cracking the safe mainly by lifting it to the rafters and dropping it repeatedly on one corner. Its own weight caused it to buckle and the door popped open. Inside was a stack of envelopes, a bunch of cash and jewelry, and a ledger.  
  
I flipped through the ledger, as I thought, it was a listing of what businesses were getting squeezed and how much they were getting hit for along with an accounting of payouts to whoever was above Too-Tall. These payouts happened every week and checking the calendar showed that one was due tonight.  
  
Whatever would Too-Tall do to replace the money that had suddenly went missing? Probably try to re-squeeze the businesses. Well I had a list of the businesses and a bad attitude time to intercept some collections. Nacht couldn't really show himself in the day so it was time for one of his agents to get involved. I threw on a men's suit with my old trench coat, pulled on a black wig and sunglasses, and headed out.  
  
I found his first group almost immediately shaking down a bakery. It was two guys with bad suits and worse haircuts. The first one fell down before he had even realized I had hit him. The second one tried to draw his gun...sadly he was a little too slow. I flipped through the ledger and counted out a refund from the cash I had snagged from Too-Tall. After dragging the tied together pair into the middle of the street I headed to the next stop. Nobody there, but a left one of Nacht's cards and a refund from the last shakedown. I kept doing this until I had beaten the crap out ten pairs of goons and refunded all of the last set of payments. Then I headed back to Too-Tall's place.   
  
"Who the hell are you?" the bartender said as I kicked in the front door.  
  
"Morgan. I'm here to see Too-Tall. If he's recovered from the beating my boss gave him last night of course."  
  
As the bartender 's hand started to dip under the counter, I pinned his sleeve to the bartop with a thrown knife.   
  
"Naughty naughty," I wagged my finger at him. I walked over and put him out with a sleeper hold, before pulling the cut-down pump shotgun he had been reaching for out from its scabbard. I checked to see that a round was chambered, then headed for the back door. "I'll see myself up thank you."  
  
The back door swung open and one of Too-Tall's goons came rushing through. I rammed the butt of the shotgun into his stomach and as he bent over gasping I pinched out his carotid artery with my free hand. His partner came through as I was finishing up so I shin kicked him, causing him to stumble, and guided him face first into the bar. I got two new pistols and a couple of handfuls of cash, so it wasn't a complete waste of time. Heading through the door I started up the stairs.  
  
"Too-Tall," I called out, "I'm here to talk to you about your business partners. I mean silent partners. My boss has your ledger."  
  
His door crashed open and he was pointing a shotgun at me, "Yer a broad?"  
  
"I see that my boss didn't beat your eyesight out of you. That is a nasty cut on your forehead, looks kind of like a boot-print actually."  
  
"Who are you and who's your boss?" he waved the shotgun at me.  
  
"My name is Morgan and my boss is the gentleman you met last night."  
  
"The Dutchman?"  
  
"Yes, but he's German actually."  
  
"Bastard cheats."  
  
"He wins. He did say that you are an excellent fighter though."  
  
"He did huh?"  
  
"Yes. He saw why you were a champion prizefighter."  
  
A smile appeared on Too-Tall's face when he heard that, "Really?"  
  
"Now he would like me to ask you a few questions because you apparently weren't feeling too talkative last night."  
  
"What kind of questions?"  
  
"Well everybody knows that you went independent from the Luciano Mob. Everybody except you, the Lucianos, me, and my boss."  
  
"How th'hell do you know that?" he sagged slightly.  
  
"Nacht read your ledger. He saw that you needed to make payments higher up. Not the sign of an independent."  
  
"Yeah. The Lucianos thought they could cut into th'dock rackets past the Giovanni's and the Irish if they went in quiet-like."  
  
"Using an 'independent' that wasn't grabbing a lot at the start?"  
  
"Pretty much bang on Miss Morgan."  
  
"Just Morgan. Formality doesn't really work when we're both pointing guns at each other after all."  
  
He gave a bark of laughter, "Guess not. You got stones even if you are a dame. Most guys see me they're trembling."  
  
"I wouldn't want to fight you Too-Tall. Nacht is far crazier than I am."  
  
"You seem t'have th'answers t'the questions. What do you want to ask?"  
  
"Just where and when you're supposed to make the payoff tonight? Your collection guys seem to have had problems today. I suppose I may have been responsible."  
  
He laughed again, "Is that all?"  
  
"Well no. If you tell me, Nacht will visit tonight at about the same time, beat the hell out of everybody there except you, take the empty package you'll be carrying and everything the Lucianos present have. In return you stop grabbing so much, and start actually protecting this neighborhood from the Giovannis and the Irish Mob. You do that and you'll never see Nacht again."  
  
Too-Tell gingerly touched his head, "Yer boss is a hell of a fighter. Strong and can take a beatin'. Th'Rose a'Sicily at 1 AM."  
  
"And the rest?"  
  
"If he pulls it off, then I'll consider it."  
  
"Fair enough," I backed down the stairs and left the pool-hall. I had to get back to the apartment to meet Moe and the Professor and I was running late.  
  
"Oh there you are!" the Professor said. He was drinking a cup of tea along with Moe. "And who iz thiz outfit zuppozed to be?"  
  
"Her name is Morgan and she is daylight muscle for Nacht. She just had a chat with Too-Tall as a matter of fact."  
  
"About what?" Moe asked with a grimace...like he was afraid to find out.  
  
"About the way money moves around this town. We have an appointment in Little Italy tonight. Or at least Nacht does."  
  
"Betty," the Professor spoke up, " I have been examining thiz urn. I do believe I can create a filter to tranzlate theze writingz."  
  
"What do you need?" I asked.  
  
"The zpectrozcope at my zuite and zome oddz and endz."   
  
I went to the linen cabinet and grabbing a sheet, wrapped the urn in it. "Let's go. After I've changed into something less distinctive of course."

**Chapter Nineteen**

I ended up not going as I had a shift at the automat. Pulling on my uniform was painful as I still hadn't fully recovered.  
  
Moon was growly as usual and Sally was happy to see me and kept asking me about my 'aunt's' condition. I was starting to think I may have cracked a rib during my fall and the stuff I had been doing since, hadn't really been helping its healing much. I was also starting to feel really tired.  
  
All in all I was not having a good time. I was going to need help tonight with very little chance to plan ahead. I was saved when Harry entered.  
  
"Hey Betty!"  
  
"Hey Mister Vincent!"  
  
"I keep telling you, call me Harry."  
  
"Can't Mister Vincent. The boss gets seriously grumpy."  
  
"More than normal? I didn't think that was possible."  
  
"Oh it is," I replied as Harry went to the coffee urn and then got a slice of pie.  
  
"Well hello Moon!" he said cheerily as he passed him.  
  
"Hello Mister Vincent. You taking up my employee's time?"  
  
"Trying not to. It looks like your automat is doing well at least."  
  
Moon's face had a faint flicker of pride run across it, "I suppose it is. Could all fail tomorrow though."  
  
"That's why I keep coming back, the cheery atmosphere...Also you have swell coffee."  
  
Moon growled some more then stomped off. I sauntered over to the tale Harry was sitting at, "How'd the party go?"  
  
"Wainwright's a nice enough type, his nephew is a little too high on himself though."  
  
"Any comments about Nacht?"  
  
"Well the Commissioner is sure that he's just another crook, Theodore Brooks is sure he's a high-quality crook..."  
  
"Ham Brooks was there?" I said, surprised.  
  
"That's right, Nacht and Miss Del Rio have met him haven't they? Yes, he was attending with a Miss Patricia Savage as his plus one. Very striking woman, she's Doc's cousin bye the bye."  
  
"Oh really?"  
  
Harry nodded and had another bite of pie, "Anyway I'm in to visit Wainwright's country home for some hunting sometime next month. And I can bring a companion if I desire."  
  
"Ooo, country living. I'll pencil it in on my social calendar."  
  
Harry grinned, "Thought you might."  
  
"What are your plans for tonight and can they be cancelled?" time for real business.  
  
Harry turned serious, "Nothing important. What's up?"  
  
"Nacht is going to be paying a visit on some nasty types. I got kind of banged up a couple of nights ago and I'll feel better if I had some back-up."  
  
"Sure, I'm in. You okay Betty?"  
  
"I've been better, but it's nothing time and rest won't fix. Sadly I don't have space for either in my schedule."  
  
"What, where, and when?"  
  
"Little Italy..."  
  
"The Sicilians!?"  
  
I nodded, "See why I need help?"  
  
"You're out of your mind...Of course you need help. The kind found wearing nice white coats. Betty, those guys don't play around."  
  
"I know. So you won't help?"  
  
"I didn't say that. What's the deal?"  
  
I told him and he nodded, "That might actually work."  
  
"I hope so, the Professor made me a couple of gadgets that can help at least. You need any weapons?"  
  
"I have a revolver...I'll probably need something else...I assume that self-defense is acceptable?"  
  
"If they're trying to kill you? Of course, but they have to initiate lethal stuff."  
  
"Makes sense. I'll be there, mask and gloves right?"  
  
I nodded again, "Moe and I will pick you up, have a nice day until then."  
  
"Thanks Betty," he got up and I took his dishes to the back. It was my turn to start washing while Sally worked the front anyway.  
  
I had a couple hours free after work so I went home and had a nap. It was going to be a busy night.

**Chapter Twenty**

I made sure my ribs were wrapped tightly. I had seriously been overdoing it the last few days and as ibuprofen hadn't been invented yet, I was hurting. Slayer healing and durability is awesome, but I was sure I was pushing mine to its limits.  
  
Wincing I slipped on Nacht's padded shirt and pants, boots and coat. After fitting my tools into the various pockets, I wrapped the red scarf around the lower half of my face and pinned my fedora on.  
  
Stepping into the shadows outside the warehouse I waited for Moe. After he arrived, we went to pick up Harry.  
  
"So what's the plan?" Harry asked.  
  
I made sure the voice changer was switched off to save the battery then replied, "The meeting is being held in the Rose of Sicily restaurant in about an hour. We're getting there early to be ready to get into position."  
  
"Rose of Sicily? Nice place."  
  
"We'll go to dinner there another time Harry. Right now I'm going to come in from above. You'll be at street level by the kitchen entrance. When the party starts, you will hear it. Get in quiet and make a nuisance of yourself," I handed him a Browning automatic I had liberated from one of Fats' men along with a shoulder holster.  
  
"A High-Power? Why thank you. I didn't get you anything though."  
  
I smiled behind my scarf, "That's alright, I asked you out remember?"  
  
"Modern women..." Harry said as he shook his head sadly.  
  
"You have no idea..." I thought to myself. "Just try not to kill anybody unless the target is trying to make you or someone else dead. Got it?"  
  
"Not a problem. I don't enjoy it anyway."  
  
"Good," I switched on the changer, "Let'sss get ready to caussse sssome chaosss."  
  
"Boss," Shrevvy said while rolling his eyes, "You enjoy that doohicky a little too much I think."  
  
I laughed, "You're probably right Ssshrevvy, but thessse daysss it helpsss to get your fun where you can."  
  
"Sad but true. This is your stop right?" he pointed at an alley.  
  
I slipped out the door of the still moving cab and was up the fire escape of the nearest building like a shot. As I climbed I saw the tail lights pull away through the blowing snow. Moe was going to park a block away and that's where Harry would exit before making his way to restaurant. With this cold and snow there was almost no one on the streets so anybody watching outside would be obvious at least.  
  
I got to the roof of the restaurant. It was on the first floor of a four story building. No guard was stupid enough to be up here in this weather so I had it to myself. I tried the roof door, locked as expected, so I moved over to the eaves and looked down at the street. There were two very unhappy looking goons keeping an eye on the front.  
  
There was a crackle in my earphone, "Harry's out of th'cab."  
  
I pressed the signal key twice. That made the light of Shrevvy's dash blink signaling that I had heard.  
  
"Good luck Boss."  
  
I sighed. Now it was down to the waiting. As I watched there was a slow but steady flow of cars pulling up and dropping people off. I counted at least twenty counting bodyguards. This was not going to be easy. Also I needed to hear what was going on inside, this was looking a lot bigger than just a collection meeting.  
  
I ran a compass around the edges of the roof door. I was not going to be surprised by alarms again thank you very much. There was one but I had a solution for that I hoped. I pulled one of Tesla's devices from a pocket. It was supposed to zap any sort of magnetic switch locking it in its current position.  
  
I placed it on the place the compass had jiggled, and pushed the button. The only sign anything happened was a low snapping sound and a small blue spark. I pocketed the zapper and carefully pried the door open, the locking bar bending in the process. I so needed to learn more about real breaking and entering.  
  
The alarm didn't sound so score one for the Serbian Professor. I crept down the stairs keeping my weight on the edges so they wouldn't creak. When I reached the second floor I heard somebody in the gloom below me. Peeking over the edge I saw a big bored looking guy scratching his ear. Not really surprising actually. I sighed and jumped down in front of him landing in a crouch. Before he could react, I had grabbed him by the throat and mouth and kneed him in the crotch. All the fight drained out of him as he was gasping for breath. Throwing him into a fireman's carry I headed back up to the second floor landing where I gagged him and tied him to a sewer line.  
  
"...So this meeting was called. Morrison tried making a move on Ruthie. I think we ought to take over her house for her own protection."  
  
I did not like the sound of this. Reaching into my pocket I pulled out the second device the Professor had made for me and then switched off my radio and voice changer.  
  
He called it the broadcast pulse amplification device. I called it cool. It looked like a small antenna with heavy block of batteries attached. it was good for only one use and he wasn't exactly sure how big a radius it would effect. I had switched off my stuff just in case the shielding he had put on it wasn't completely sufficient.  
  
I flicked the switch and there was a series of loud pops as every light bulb in range blew up from the sudden surge of broadcast power. I switched the voice changer back on and kicked in the door as hard as I could. I was in a back hallway and the babble of voices came from the door directly in front of me. One more kick and that was open too, with the lock plate even getting ripped out of the door frame.  
  
A couple of the people in there had lit matches and there was more than enough light for me to spot targets. The first door crash had started them drawing their weapons and the second had them aiming towards me. This was not a good thing.  
  
The room lit up a lot more as they started firing. I dive rolled in under the initial shooting, "I am the Night! I am your Doom!!" Coming up under the big table, I used it as a huge discus and slammed it into a group of gunmen. Then there was a stabbing pain in my leg as I got hit. This was not going according to plan now.  
  
"Shoot him! Get th'mug!" was being yelled out. I cartwheeled to one side as a shotgun boomed, stumbling as my weight came down on my wounded leg.  
  
"He's hit! Kill him!"  
  
In the gun flashes it was hard for anybody to aim so I headed towards the closest group to use them as cover. Once inside I just started beating them silly. Then another fight broke out at the other door. I saw Harry smashing a frying pan over one goon's head while shooting another one.  
  
"You ssshould all sssurrender now, before I get annoyed mein Herren."  
  
"Nacht, whoever ya are, ya just made th'biggest mistake you ever could dream of. Comin' in here alone, you are so dead."  
  
"Herr Luciano I presssume? A pleasssure to make your acquaintance," I chopped a goon in the throat, then elbow smashed him in the bridge of the nose. He fell back reeling. "It ssseemsss that we have a difference of opinion on who issss winning here though..." I punched another goon then scooped him up and threw him at Luciano. The goon hit his boss and they both landed sprawling.  
  
Harry's attacks weren't really being noticed as everybody seemed to be trying to kill me. We were in too close quarters for them to shoot however and at the moment I was too fast for a normal human to do for than tap me. I had been cut a few times though and I could feel the blood loss from those cuts, and the gunshot I had received, starting to take its toll.  
  
By this time most of the gunmen were down however. I had given Too-Tall a slight tap and he was playing unconscious and trying not to draw any notice. There were only six or so guys left, and I had just succeeded in throwing one of them into a wall as Harry shot one of the others...then everything turned gray.  
  
I woke up in a fancy looking bedroom. I hurt all over. Sitting up hurt and I pulled back the covers to see my leg had been bandaged expertly. I was also naked.  
  
There was a knock at the door.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"It'sss Nacht."  
  
I pulled up the covers, "Come in?" I wasn't sure what was going on.  
  
Ruthie entered holding my voice changer, "I ssssee why you thought I would not find you to my tassstesss."

**Chapter Twenty One**

I looked as innocent as possible, "Ruthie. I don't know how to say this, but I may have been a little less than honest with you."  
  
She laughed and set down the voice changer, "So what's your name then?"  
  
"Most people around here know me as Betty Harris. My real name isn't that important."  
  
"Around here?"  
  
"Betty Harris is from Alaska originally."  
  
"Long ways from home."  
  
"Oh yes."  
  
She walked over to a chair and almost sat down before deciding to perch her height on the end of the bed, "This is where I want you to start talking..."  
  
I sighed, "I was trained to be a weapon...a disposable soldier in an eternal war. Somehow I wound up in the East River, I have no real clue how or why, and when I swam to shore I found I was in New York. This was last year."  
  
"A soldier? There're more like you?"  
  
I nodded, "None near here though and that war isn't showing signs of moving...although maybe it is and that's why I'm here...Anyway, I found a job at an automat and started beating up bad people."  
  
"The fearsome Nacht works at an  _automat_?"  
  
"Only part-time," I said defensively. "I have a sick aunt in Flushing I have to take care of too you know."  
  
"Really?"  
  
I grinned, "Not really. I can't work full-time and be Nacht too you know. By the way, how did I end up here? Last thing I remembered was the world fading away, I probably should be dead."  
  
"Two nights ago there was a pounding on my office door. One of my guys said that Nacht was bleeding to death in the back hall. Your guy, Harry right?"  
  
I nodded.  
  
"He was there holding you up and said that you needed a doctor badly. Well, I am one, or at least I was."  
  
"Talk about hidden depths."  
  
Ruthie shrugged, "With the Depression it wasn't easy for a doctor that looks like me. The people that could afford to pay...well, they would rather stick to their own kind."  
  
I looked at my bandaged wounds and shrugged, "They have no eye for quality. Where'd you go to school?"  
  
"Meharry Medical College in Nashville Tennessee. Class of '28," she said proudly. "Anyway I told my guys to get clear and Harry said he'd take care of the cabbie he'd Shanghai'd to drive you here."  
  
"The cabbie works for me too..."  
  
"Really? You have a lot of employees. Anyway I hauled you upstairs and when I started stripping you down..."  
  
"Yeah. I can see how that might throw you."  
  
She laughed, "I have to say those clothes and those trick boots of yours, plus the way you move. It sells the illusion." She gestured at Nacht's outfit hanging on a chair back. "Anyway, you had signs of an old beating, a cracked rib which you had done a good job of strapping up. It was almost fully healed actually. Multiple fresh stab wounds and had la chunk of your left calf to a shotgun blast. You had lost a lot of blood and were in severe shock. I'm really not sure how you survived."  
  
"Unless I am flatlined dead, I'll survive, no matter how badly I've been hurt."  
  
"Flatlined?"  
  
"Uhh, heart and brain completely non-functional. If I haven't reached that stage and am stable. I won't die. I won't be happy, but I also won't be dead. Wait a second...Did you say  _two_  nights ago?"  
  
Ruthie grinned at me, "Oh yes, and did you know that the Luciano Family is in severe disorder at the moment? Some masked avenger named Nacht came in and demolished the entire hierarchy. He caused such a fracas that the Commissioner heard about it and the FBI's anti-racket squad was called in."  
  
"So sad for them. So you found out about my true...nature. Then what?"  
  
"Then I talked to Harry. He told me nothing at first, but then I may have leaned on him a little...said I wouldn't treat you, and he told me about the Luciano raid. I patched you up, made some saline for a drip and here you are."  
  
"Thank you Ruthie."  
  
"I owed you, and I always pay my debts."  
  
"How did you get involved in this business anyway? I mean since we're in a sharing kind of situation."  
  
"My mother was a sporting girl and then a madam in Washington DC and my father was a Samoan Diplomat."  
  
"That's where you got your height..."  
  
"You've met Samoans before. Anyway, I worked in my mother's house until I was accepted for college. When times got tough at least I had a fall-back. I got a loan from my mother and set this place up. My turn."  
  
I nodded, "Go ahead."  
  
"You say you're a soldier in some kind of war. The things you can...Nacht can do. They aren't natural."  
  
"No they are not."  
  
"What are they?"  
  
"A curse. Grants you power and puts you in situations where your life is constantly at risk. Until relatively recently, the lifespan after receiving the abilities was a year or so. Now it's a lot better, but still..." I gestured at my bandages.  
  
"Speaking of which, let me check your calf."  
  
I rolled onto my stomach and she unwound the bandages.  
  
"How's it looking?"  
  
"Very nice. It's healing so quickly. Part of your curse?"  
  
"Yes. Downside of that is that I am starving. Healing burns a lot of energy."  
  
"Well, I'll get you some food. Also, do you have anybody you need to get a hold of?"  
  
"Harry Vincent at the Hotel Metropolitan."  
  
"What's the message?"  
  
"I'd like to see him. Him and Moe."  
  
"That shouldn't be a problem. The bell captain does some side-jobs and advertising for me."  
  
"Also Ruthie, could I get a robe? I feel a little underdressed."  
  
She laughed, "Betty, you look fine and have absolutely nothing to be ashamed of. I'll see what I can scare up for you. One of mine would fit you like a tent I'm afraid."  
  
She was right about that. Ruthie was around a foot or so taller and outweighed me by at least two to one with none of that being wasted fat. Her Samoan blood showing through obviously. She made me feel underdeveloped and tiny compared to her Amazonian proportions.  
  
"Yeah, I can see that. Thanks Ruthie."  
  
"What are friends for?"

**Chapter Twenty Two**

I was on bed rest, Doctor's orders, for the next two weeks. Moe and Harry had slipped me out the back and got me home, and Ruth insisted on making house calls. I lost my job at the automat, which was good and bad I suppose, and with Ruthie stopping by, Betty now had a rep as a high end working girl. It is to laugh.  
  
Harry filled me in on the part of the battle I had dozed off in. Apparently even while semi-conscious I had succeeded in beating the crap out of the rest of them before collapsing. Too-Tall was going to try something stupid, but Harry and his Browning convinced him not to. Harry and Too-Tall pocketed all the cash they could find, then Harry pistol whipped Too-Tall and shot him in the leg and the arm to make it look good. Moe pulled around back and they loaded me up. Harry had apparently heard about Ruthie's past so that's where they headed.  
  
"And now Ruthie knows," I sighed.  
  
"Could be worse Betty. The FBI has claimed credit for busting up the Luciano Mob, word on the street though is this guy...note the word 'guy...named Nacht really took them down," Harry said philosophically. "My new best friend Cranston's Uncle Barth and I talked about this masked menace. Apparently he's some German War Veteran, horribly scarred of course from the gas attacks. He has a number of people he works with including a woman named Morgan who is an expert with throwing knives, a Russian Countess, and a mute chauffeur."  
  
"Where the hell did that come from?"  
  
"I may have added a few touches here and there," Harry said with a grin.  
  
"I see. Well having the mobs and the police looking for fake people is helpful. At least Mona's cover is still good and I have a few others if necessary. Oh! Tell Professor Tesla that his gadgets worked perfectly. How big was the blackout anyway?"  
  
"Got the whole first floor and some of the second as well as a bunch of streetlights. I'll let the Prof know. He's been worried about you."  
  
"I'll be fine. Like I told my doctor, If I'm not killed right away, I'll heal."  
  
"Betty, I saw people chewed up at the Somme. You had lost so much blood I figured you wouldn't make it up to Harlem let alone survive the night. How did you?"  
  
"I'm not like normal people, Harry. I can't really explain why without sounding like somebody who deserves a comfortable cell with no sharp objects nearby. Let me just say, the only things that could have brought me to this time and place had to have done it for a reason. And I have a suspicion that reason is not going to be fun."  
  
"Who do you work for?"  
  
"Now? Myself. Before? That's another padded room question. I promise I will tell all eventually...once I figure out exactly what's going on. Suffice it to say I am stronger, faster, tougher, and heal quicker than anyone my size and build has a right to."  
  
"Okay. As long as you will tell Moe and me in the sometime soon."  
  
"I will Harry. I owe both of you my life."  
  
"You saved us, it's only fair to return the favor," he headed out to talk to Tesla and opened the suitcase he had left behind. It was filled with cash. Tons and tons of cash.  
  
It came to just over 30 grand. This must have been the Luciano treasury. They must be sooo pissed at me. The ones that were still breathing that is. If Harry had split the cash evenly with Too-Tall, that guy was now the richest thug in the city. I started to laugh. He had better send me a thank you card or something.  
  
There was a click as a key opened my door and Ruthie came in, "Hey there Betty! Just saw Harry on his way out...Good God that's a lot of cabbage!" she gaped at the stacks of bills on my bed.  
  
"Present from the Luciano Mob. Want some?" I tossed her a stack of twenties.  
  
"I would never be considered anything less than top of the line, but you could rent me for a week for less than half of this one stack ," she riffled the bills expertly.  
  
"Okay, think of it as me paying my medical bills. Good care isn't cheap."  
  
"You're serious?"  
  
"About giving you that? Of course."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Because you took a risk and saved my life. Also, I owe you for materials and blood damage I'm sure."  
  
Ruthie laughed and pulled out her cigar case. I nodded and she lit up, "After you're on your feet again I'm going to have to get Betty and whoever else you are an appointment at my beautician. I'm hearing rumors that you work for my house and I'll be damned if you don't look your best."  
  
I groaned, "Does everybody think Betty Harris is in the game?"

**Chapter Twenty Three**

After my enforced house arrest I was finally able to leave the apartment with a sore calf and the rest of my injuries healed. I made my way across town to the Hotel New Yorker.  
  
"Hey Professor!"  
  
"Mizz Del Rio! I am zo glad to zee you up and about."  
  
"It was only a slight cold. You said you had something for my boss?"  
  
"Indeed I do. Thiz way pleaze."  
  
"Voila!" in his darkened lab colored light reflected off the urn's elaborately enameled sides and onto the walls, One wall had clearly readable Perso-Arabic, 'Atar's Blessing allows vision if not understanding. To call down the vengeance of Angra Mainyu one must comprehend the costs of such an endeavor and be willing to make the appropriate sacrifices to the all-powerful Ahuru Mazda.'  
  
I translated it for Tesla and he nodded happily, "That iz what I had deziphered as well. Not az quickly I muzt zay and I needed zeveral referenze books. Keep going."  
  
I continued out loud, "These sacrifices must be placed in line with the sparks of heaven, otherwise the risk of destruction of the mechanism?...is too great."  
  
"Fuzes!" the Professor said happily.  
  
"Fuzes?"  
  
"Yezz, thiz urn containz the planz for a lightning gun."  
  
The rest of the drawings reflected on the wall made sense now. It was a primitive circuit diagram, "So this will work?"  
  
"Of courze. Would you like to zee my model?"  
  
"And you built one...of course you did, you are Nikola Tesla after all."  
  
"I have never been prouder to have been antizipated. There are ideaz here that would have made Wardenclyff fully functional and If I can perzuade Weztinghouze for the funding...who knowz perhapz wirelezz power will be pozzible," he had brought out a square cage made out of hardware cloth and carefully attached a long copper wire from it to the radiator. "A Faraday cage," he responded to my stare, "Zafety firzt."  
  
Inside the cage was a strange looking device that I had seen the much bigger brother of at a Chinatown sweatshop. Tesla pulled out a glass rod and after putting on a rubber glove stuck the rod through the mesh and flipped a switch. There was a nasty blue bolt and a loud snap.   
  
"How dangerous is it?" I asked.  
  
"Thiz model? It could burn or kill of courze, but the range iz quite zhort. No more than a hundred feet."  
  
"What if this part," I pointed to a stack of cylinders, "Was twenty feet high?"  
  
"The condezer bank? Oh my...Then it would be eazily capable of laying wazte with a zeveral mile radiuz. All depending on how effizient the actual conztruction was."  
  
"And by 'lay waste' you mean?"  
  
"Complete deztruction of any item within the radiuz az the wielder dezired."  
  
"Okay, assuming that the rest of the design was the same with this scaled up to twenty foot tall. How long would it take to rebuild or repair, if this part," I pointed at the cable area I had shot, "happened to catch fire and explode?"  
  
"The ztep up tranzformer?" He pulled up a slide rule "Azzuming the increazed zcale and number of windingz per foot to handle the levelz of current and voltage involved..." he fiddled for another minute or so then looked up at me. "The armature, the core the tranzformer windingz are wrapped around would probably not be damaged. It would have to be rewound of courze. The wirez of the winding must remain insulated and gutta percha, varnizh, or cloth would be damaged or deztroyed by the fire. A tranzformer of thiz zcale would require a great deal of new cable therefore. It muzt be found zomewhere. And then it muzt be rewound. If the cable iz eazily available, the rewinding might take a week or zo. Azzuming that it zhorted az it burned would normally mean that other componentz would be damaged az well. Thiz would not be the caze with thiz dezign however."  
  
"What? Why?"  
  
"Fuzes. They are here, here and here," he pointed with the glass rod at three little clusters on his model, "The urn even made zpecial mention of them," he pointed at the script on the wall.  
  
"Those weren't on the one I saw..."  
  
"Really? Thiz diagram," he pointed at another section of reflected lines, "zhowz them quite clearly."  
  
"This diagram and the lines about the fuses are in a different color," I said thoughtfully.  
  
"Yez. It required different materialz to zee them. Mozt of it iz vizible in low wavelength infrared. The fuzez were mentioned in ultraviolet."  
  
"Aren't those opposite ends of the spectrum? How did you find them?"  
  
"The infrared had cluez in zome of the zhading of colorz. The ultraviolet? I like to be thorough."  
  
"What would happen if this was built without the fuses?"  
  
"It might work once or twice...Pozzibly more, but at the zcale you are zpeaking of? When it did fail it would be cataztrophic. All the potential energy would dizcharge at once. I myzelf would like to be very very far away when that happened."  
  
"Not, if it happens?"  
  
"No, mozt definitely when. On the good zide, they will have to replaze all of thiz zection due to the fire you mentioned. They will probably not be ready for another few weekz at the earliezt."  
  
"That's good to hear. Now all I have to do is find them."  
  
"Check out large purchazez of cable perhapz?"  
  
"Or thefts maybe...these guys don't like buying stuff I have a feeling."  
  
"Zo, on to happier topics. My devizes worked?"  
  
"They did. Perfectly."  
  
"Exzellent. I'm glad to have been helpful."  
  
"Professor, you're a genius and I've never thought of you otherwise. There is one thing I was wondering if you could make. A way for me to make and receive telephone calls on my radio?"  
  
He closed his eyes in thought, "Callz to you would be zimple, a zecond radio frequenzy of courze connected to a dedicated telephone line though a zeparate tranzmitter and rezeiver. A devize to tranzlate keyprezzez to rotary pulzez on the other hand...Yez I can build it. Do you know a good telephonic engineer?"  
  
"Actually yes I do."  
  
"Arrange for uz to meet and talk. Doez he know about you?"  
  
"I believe so, but I also don't think he really cares about much except phones and radio."  
  
The Professor smiled, "Exzellent. We will have much to dizcuzz."  
  
I let myself out as Tesla was starting to sketch up...something. I called Burbank from a payphone and he sounded ecstatic at a chance to meet and work with the Professor. Hero worship never changes I guess.  
  
My next stop was to Sergeant Oswald. I was still dressed as Mona, so I had to ask the floor manager to see the gunsmith in residence. After some hemming and hawing, I was finally shown back.  
  
"Sergeant Oswald. I'm Miss Del Rio."  
  
"I'm sure you are. What does he want?"  
  
"Body armor, and it's for me, not him. How'd you know anyway?"  
  
"Your body language is pretty distinctive Miss Giles. Also I tend to observe beautiful women a lot more closely."  
  
I laughed, "I'll have to watch that."  
  
He laughed too, "Good idea. So body armor huh? Guess it's true that he got hisself shot in Little Italy."  
  
"He did, but don't spread that around as the truth. He's up and running now though and a lot of Lucianos are not."  
  
"Yeah I heard about that too. So back to the job?"  
  
"Yes, body armor for me. After he got shot he doesn't want me to be in harm's way. I want to be though, so the armor is a compromise."  
  
"You got moxie that's for sure. The problem is that armor that will stop a bullet is very heavy..too heavy for someone your size."  
  
"I am a lot stronger than I look. Hold still," I stepped up to him and one-handed lifted him of the floor by grabbing his belt buckle.  
  
"Wow!" the Sergeant breathed. "A little slip like you can do that?"  
  
I smiled innocently, "About the armor?"  
  
Oswald caught his breath and nodded, "The Army had the Brewster Body Shield back in the Great War. Weighed forty pounds or so, was made of nickel steel, and could stop a Lewis Gun round. It was a full helmet and a rigid breastplate."  
  
"That's not very practical."  
  
"Not for you obviously. It's far too big and bulky. After that they did a vest thing with scales like a fish that overlapped. A lot lighter and more flexible. Still heavy though."  
  
"What about materials other than steel?"  
  
"Like what?"  
  
"I don't know, fiberglass maybe with a steel core?"  
  
"Fiber-what?"  
  
"A new material....I think," I realized I had no idea when it was invented. This could be bad.  
  
"And your boss knew about it just like the Mauser I bet. So it's German I guess?"  
  
"Maybe. It's supposed to be mats of glass fiber and has epoxy poured over it to harden I guess."  
  
"Epoxy?"  
  
"It's supposed to be this kind of really strong glue I think. I can find out more?" visiting Frank Kincaid was now high on my list of things to do.  
  
"Okay, but I can make a scale-mail vest for you sure. Not here though, I'll need a real machine shop, and some high-end tools."  
  
"That can be arranged, Nacht has needed a personal armorer anyway."  
  
"I like my job here."  
  
"Did I say you'd have to leave it? How busy are you being kept...honestly?"  
  
"Truth. Let me know when the space is ready and I'll give you a list of tools to get."  
  
"The space is available now actually and you having a public machine shop there would be fine. Just a few areas have to be hidden. Here's the address call the number on this card with the time you want to see it and I'll show you around."  
  
"Will Nacht be there?"  
  
"Maybe." I said goodbye and left for Columbia University Library.  
  
After a short chat with Doctor Kincaid I found that I had only jumped the gun with fiberglass and epoxy by a matter of months in the academic world. They both had recently been discovered by separate groups. He even found me formulas for the two epoxy components and suggested that Rayon or bamboo fibers might work until glass fiber was commercially available. As usual, he didn't care why I was asking these questions and even recommended I talk to some company that produced Bakelite for more information. Now I just had to find out what Bakelite was I guess.

**Chapter Twenty Four**

Something Sergeant Oswald had said had clicked. Nacht hadn't been seen in the last week, that had to be fixed. Where better than at Too-Tall's place?  
  
I entered at around ten, "I'm here to sssee Too-Tall...get him down here now."  
  
Somebody was stupid enough to throw a punch and another idiot charged me with a pool cue. I threw the puncher out through the front door and Mister Pool Cue got wrist-locked, thrown to the floor, and kicked in the ribs.  
  
"Next?" I asked calmly. A couple guys drew knives and I shrugged, "Don't you know mein Herren that thossse only make me angry? The Lucianosss found that out with interessst. Ssstill, if you insssissst...." the backed away. Too-Tall came lumbering in as they were retreating. He looked at the body on the floor and the broken front door then at me.  
  
"Do you have t'destroy everythin' includin' m'patrons?"  
  
"He wasss foolish."  
  
"And now he's unconscious as well," he poked Mister Pool Cue with a toe and there was a groan. "At least ya didn't kill his stupid self. What do y'want? Lucianos and me are history and I will do my level best t'stay outta yer way."  
  
"A private chat perhapsss?"  
  
Too-Tall nodded and led me to a back room, "Jesus I thought you was dead! I mean I have never seen so much blood come outta somebody where th'somebody didn't wind up wit' lilies and a eulogy."  
  
"I am much tougher than I look. You knew that though."  
  
"After our go-round I guessed it. But, that room at th'Rose was out of legend. There musta been twenty hard men there and you went through'em like they was paper. Yer buddy showed up at th'end, but you did all th'heavy work. You took out five guys wit' juice pourin' outta yer leg and didn't fall over till they was all down."  
  
"I heard you made a profit too?"  
  
Too-Tall grinned, "Maybe a little one. Yer buddy took most of it. Fine by me, you did most of th'bleedin'."  
  
"I alssso heard you were shot during the fight."  
  
"Well yeah. Yer buddy popped me. Looked so good, th'Lucianos think I'm pure of any of this."  
  
"Ssso no hard feelingsss?"  
  
"Of course not. This was business."  
  
"And our deal?"  
  
"Ya came through so I'll honor it. Helps that th'Lucianos have more things t'worry about now other than me."  
  
"Excssellent, now would you pleassse throw me through the door there? While yelling that you'll never work for me of courssse."  
  
His grin scared me a little and I readied myself for the impact.  
  
"Ya think I'll roll over and work for ya? I'm an independent and what's mine stays mine!"  
  
I crashed through the door and rolled to my feet brushing off splinters, "Then our busssinessss is concluded mein Herr. Auf wiedersssehen."  
  
"And good riddance!" someone yelled. At least now nobody would suspect Too-Tall's loyalty or Nacht's continued existence among the living. I stepped over the body I had thrown through the door and made my way onto the roofs. Minutes later I was entering the warehouse.  
  
"How'd it go?"  
  
"Fine, and what are you doing here Harry?"  
  
"Cleaning this pistol you gave me. I realized I don't have a good cleaning kit at my room so...."  
  
"Smart. You ever hear of a guy named Sergeant James Oswald?"  
  
"The colored gunsmith? I sure have. He works on top of the line gear for safaris and the like. Cranston uses him a lot."  
  
"He does custom work for Nacht too."  
  
"Like what sort of work?"  
  
I pulled out my line launcher and my Mauser, "He built the launcher and the custom ammunition for it as well as this suppressor."  
  
"This is amazing work, I see why you want him."  
  
"I offered him space here for a machine shop...so he can build me some stuff that's hard to explain at Abercrombie and Fitch."  
  
You going to tell him about who Nacht is?"  
  
"Not immediately. A big advantage I have in keeping that secret is that nobody expects a woman like me to be capable of that kind of stuff."  
  
"That's true. Well I'm done here, join me for a nightcap at El Morocco?"  
  
"Who should I go as?"  
  
"How about Miss Del Rio? What does she do for a living anyway?"  
  
I walked into my changing area and pulled out an evening gown, "Mona is a very private person. You're taking Betty out."  
  
"Works for me," Harry said with a laugh and lit a cigarette. "We going dutch?"  
  
I laughed too, "I think I can cover it."  
  
Shrevvy was there soon enough and we were off to 54th Street, "How did th'conversation with Too-Tall go?"  
  
"He's on Nacht's side for now. I'm going to have to keep an eye on him of course. Hey Shrevvy, you heard of anybody stealing cable recently?"  
  
"Cable like what holds up bridges?"  
  
"Telephone or power line cable is more likely."  
  
"Mmm, not off-hand. I'll check though."  
  
"Harry, check with Clyde Burke maybe he's heard something."  
  
"I'll get on it first thing in the morning."  
  
"Thanks, both of you."  
  
El Morocco was an amazing nightclub with a bizarre blue zebra-print theme. It was also one of the places to see or be seen and I was sure my photo would pop up in the papers tomorrow. Harry's picture was old news.  
  
"Mister Vincent, so good to see you tonight...and this ravishing delight is?"  
  
"Betty Harris. Betty, this is Mister Perona the owner and our host."  
  
"A pleasure Mister Perona."  
  
"The pleasure is mine, Albert! Take Mister Vincent and Miss Harris to a good table and make sure they have a good champagne on my tab."  
  
"Yessir! This way ma'am, sir."  
  
"Who's playing tonight?"  
  
"Satchmo and his orchestra sir. They just finished setting up actually."  
  
Satchmo? We walked over to a table a little way from the dance floor and I saw an African-American dressed in a white tuxedo and holding a trumpet, bow to the audience and then in this amazing voice say, "All of Me...hit it."  
  
It was Louis Armstrong. I don't know much about music from this time, but even I recognized this singing style from Good Morning Vietnam. I don't know why I was here, but I'll take these moments when they're given.

**Chapter Twenty Five**

I was woken up by my phone ringing, my Betty phone not my Nacht one.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Betty, word is that th'friggin' Commission has sicced Murder Inc. on Nacht!"  
  
"And good morning to you Moe," I yawned, "I've been having a few thoughts about making them even madder at Nacht."  
  
"Are you crazy?"  
  
"Uhm...Is this a trick question?"  
  
"Betty!"  
  
I sat up in bed, "Calm down Moe. I really do know what I'm doing...Honest. With Luciano in prison for pimping, Vito Genovese is the man in charge right?" living in the slums you learned who the big dogs were pretty fast.  
  
"Yeah, him and Frank Costello as th'mouthpiece."  
  
"I assume he's headed out of town for the Christmas holidays."  
  
"All those bent-nosed types are good Catholic boys so yeah, I think he'd want t'spend th'time with his family."  
  
"That means his house in the City will be mostly empty..."  
  
"What'cha got percolatin' Boss?"  
  
"A bunch of felonies. Breaking and entering, fraud, and forgery to be precise. I am going to try to keep from adding assault and battery to that list though. Find out if Genovese is still in town and what his local address is."  
  
Moe had the info in less than an hour and the two of us plus Harry met at the warehouse.  
  
"Are you crazy?" was Harry's response when I outlined the plan.  
  
"No more than usual. Remember the goal this time is to not be seen. The thing at the restaurant was the exact opposite."  
  
Harry looked at Shrevvy who just shrugged, "Compared to her usual ideas this one is almost safe."  
  
"That's the spirit. We're going to need to bring Burbank in on this of course. Harry, you've met Frank Costello haven't you?"  
  
"Sure. He's got cash and isn't afraid to use it. I've seen him at the Stork Club and we chatted at the bar."  
  
"Can you do his voice, like if he had a cold or something is good enough and it will be over a nice crackly phone call?"  
  
"With that kind of set up? Yeah."  
  
"Okay then," I said proudly, "I'll get a hold of Burbank."  
  
The telephone engineer was so happy to have been introduced to and be working with Tesla that he said yes immediately. All he needed was the name and address of the bank. The rest of the day I set up the drop account at J.P. Morgan and got ready for the evening.  
  
I arrived at Genovese's townhouse at about midnight. Then it was a simple climb to the roof and in through an attic dormer. I had asked the Professor for an infrared flashlight and he had made one that matched my visual range. It helped a lot in avoiding all the boxes and junk up here.   
  
Once I got to the attic stairs I listened carefully. I heard a radio faintly playing in the background. I wasn't worried, I had expected to find a couple of Genovese's guys here as watchdogs. It just meant I had to be really quiet.  
  
Once on the third floor I started checking rooms. Bedrooms and bathrooms. The master bedroom had a nice safe in the wall. Slayer hearing let me crack it fairly quickly. Inside were the jewels and papers you might expect. I left them alone.  
  
Second floor had the sewing room and his office. Picking the desk drawer's lock was also pretty easy, inside was his bank book and check book. According to this his official account had almost a quarter of a million in it. Not what I was looking for. I 'borrowed' a couple of papers with his signature just in case. Next up, was the search for his real safe. I found it behind the bookcase. It was a two dial one, so this was going to take some time.  
  
The first dial went quickly, the second one was slow. I had gotten two of the numbers when I heard somebody coming. I slid the bookcase back and dived behind the sofa. The door opened and the lights clicked on. I heard heavy footsteps then a clink of bottles. One of the watchdogs was making a drink at the boss's bar. Far be it for me to interrupt a simple pleasure...especially one that would make him less watchdoggy.  
  
He sat down on the couch and sighed. This was awkward. He was sipping his drink too. I really had no other option at the moment than to wait him out. Checking my watch, I saw it was 2 in the morning. I had been in the house for two hours moving slowly and carefully so as not to draw attention and now this. I shook my head, this was ridiculous.  
  
Finally at about 3 he got up and left the room turning out the lights. I waited another fifteen minutes before getting out from my hiding place and spent another five stretching.  
  
The third and fourth numbers were mercifully quick and the safe was open. I had used the Professor's magnetic alarm scrambler before I swung open the door and I saw that the little switch just inside was frozen in place. Inside there were assorted business papers and about a thousand in cash. This did not seem right. This kind of safe for so comparatively little? Granted a thousand dollars in 1936 was a lot of money, but still?  
  
I rapped the sides, top, and bottom then felt the back give very very slightly. I ran my compass over it and found yet another magnet. I zapped it and the panel swung open. So not an alarm but a lock? Clever.  
  
In the back were a set of ledgers and several bankbooks. I copied down the appropriate data in my little notebook and left all the cash that was stuffed in there. Almost forty thousand dollars, I could've been obscenely rich.  
  
I closed everything up the way it was and crept out of the building the same way I got in.  
  
"How'd it go?" Shrevvy asked.  
  
"Perfectly."  
  
We arrived back at the warehouse and were met by Burbank and Harry.  
  
"Did you get the account numbers?" Harry asked.  
  
"Oh yes, this will be awesome."  
  
The telegrams for the numbered Swiss accounts went out first at the Western Union. Harry was waiting in the telephone vault where Burbank had applied the tap. I was waiting next to him listening in.  
  
"Monsieur Costello?" the voice was all crackly over the Trans-Atlantic Cable.  
  
"Yeah? Who is this?" Harry answered. We were underground right in front of Costello's house.  
  
"Monsieur Reneaux at Banc Suisse. We have received a request for a large transfer of funds to a New York account?"  
  
"Yeah to a 'Miss Sylvia'. I authorized it."  
  
"Can I get the authorization code please?"  
  
"Sure, hang on a second," I slid Harry the notes I had taken including the code which had been written on the inside of the front cover of the bank book.  
  
"Merci, Monsieur Costello. The transfer will be occurring momentarily, with the funds being deposited as soon as the destination bank opens.  
  
"Thank you for your help Mister Reneaux."  
  
"It was nothing."  
  
He hung up and the three of us laughed. We had just stolen a little over a million dollars from the Commission and made it look like Frank Costello and Vito Genovese were responsible.  
  
The next morning Miss Sylvia showed up and transferred a large portion of her money to cash which she then moved to a trading account under the control of Rutledge Mann, a broker that Betty had saved from suicide and who now handled her, I mean my, financial interests.  
  
We hadn't taken all the Commission's money, and the loss probably wouldn't be noticed until the end of the year so we had a week or so to clean out the Sylvia account. At least Nacht would be solvent for the foreseeable future.

**Chapter Twenty Six**

...And the next night we did it again. The Wire Transfer that is. We hit a different account and did the transfer. I made sure that Miss Sylvia Smith paid the taxes for her 'overseas income' immediately, so after taking about two and a half million 1936 dollars, we wound up with about a million. This money was nice and clean and resting in a safe under a half-ton concrete slab which now had Sergeant Jackson's milling machine and drill press on top.  
  
I could lift it just enough to get a set of wedges underneath and then a pry-bar. Even so it would take some time to get access.  
  
I was tidying up my workroom when a call came in on the Nacht line.  
  
"Yesss?"  
  
"D'is is Hawkeye, Boss."  
  
Hawkeye was the nickname or maybe even the real name of a weasely little guy that I had kept from getting pounded into paste.  
  
"Yesss Hawkeye. What isss it?"  
  
"Word is out d'at th'Commission is hoppin' mad. Rumor is d'at somebody swiped a bunch of d'eir loot."  
  
"Who do they think did it?"  
  
"D'ey're playin' it close Boss. Sum folks are talkin' like it was an inside job."  
  
"Really? Keep me posssted. Anything that annoysss the Comissssion, amussssesss me."  
  
Hawkeye hung up and I called Harry.  
  
"Not a good day to be named Costello or Genovese," was Harry's response.  
  
"I was thinking that too. On to other matters, you know Moe got a line on a bunch of stolen wire? The thieves apparently were told to drop it off at an old warehouse on the Hudson."  
  
"So you're going to check it out?"  
  
"Later, right now I have an appointment at the salon courtesy of Ruthie."  
  
"Who's going?"  
  
"Betty. I want to keep Mona and Miss Giles under wraps for while and Sylvia is a dead woman walking...Morgan isn't the type for makeovers."  
  
"Betty, you're an odd one."  
  
"Why thanks Harry! I'm glad you noticed."  
  
Moe dropped Ruthie and I off in front of a nice building with a tasteful small sign. "Pat's, huh?"  
  
"You better believe it. I had to pull some favors to get these appointments," Ruthie said seriously.  
  
Inside was a luxuriously appointed beauty parlor with apparently a sauna and massage as well.  
  
A tall blonde woman was walking a client out, "Take care Nita! See you on New Year's Eve. Ruthie! How are you and this is your friend Miss Harris?"  
  
"It is indeed. Betty Harris, this is Patricia Savage. The owner of this joint."  
  
I froze, "Your related to Doc Savage?"  
  
Patricia laughed, "I plead guilty of being his cousin and please call me Pat."  
  
"Only if you'll call me Betty."  
  
"Deal, welcome to my parlor Betty, Allison will be your beautician today. Ruthie, Barbara has got you."  
  
I had my hair washed and styled to a nice pageboy while getting a good mani-pedi. After an good hour of primping a tweezing I was chatting with a few of the other women. I met a Jane Clayton who was a British aristocrat visiting the city with her husband John, and a Diana Palmer who was a local socialite.   
  
"So what do you do Betty?" Jane asked.  
  
I really wasn't sure how to answer that.  
  
"Are you in the same line of work as Ruthie?" Diana asked with a grin.  
  
"Nooo. She's just a friend of mine."  
  
"Take it easy Betty. I was just kidding."  
  
"I work for a fairly eccentric businessman," I said finally. "I guess that's the best way to describe him."  
  
"What's his name?" Lady Jane asked.  
  
"He really likes his privacy."  
  
"Oh? A mystery. Hey Pat!"  
  
The tall blonde came over, "What is it Diana?"  
  
"Betty here works for a mystery man."  
  
"Does he wear a mask?" Pat asked jokingly. I stiffened for only a second, but I could tell Pat noticed.  
  
Her eyebrow raised then she smiled. "You'd look great as a redhead you know."  
  
"Uh thanks...I think?"  
  
"Come on, let's get you a massage on the house."  
  
Pat led me into a private room and had me lay down on the table. As she started to work out the stiffness in my shoulders she said, "Miss Del Rio I presume?"  
  
"How?" I knew that she was absolutely sure of this.  
  
"My cousin takes pictures of everybody that enters or leaves his building. After you visited him I saw those pictures. Doc has a blind-spot towards females, and the rest of the guys are too busy wolf-whistling to take a close look at a woman."  
  
"Idiots."  
  
"Well yeah. They are dopes are certain subjects and the smartest guys in world on others. So you actually knocked Doc down with a technique he hadn't seen before?"  
  
"Yes. I studied a lot when I was younger in some pretty weird places. That feels really great by the way," Pat was removing the tension in my lower back.  
  
"Good, it's supposed to. I'm not sure which is more impressive actually. Knocking Doc down or stumping him," she shook her head. "So you work for Nacht then?"  
  
I nodded, "Betty is my real name. Mona I use so people can't track me down as easily."  
  
"Does Nacht let you work with him?"  
  
"Like when he goes out? Sometimes."  
  
"You are so lucky."  
  
"What?" I was genuinely surprised.  
  
"Doc always tries to keep me out of harm's way even when I can help. Is your boss hiring?"  
  
I really wasn't sure how to respond to that.  


**Chapter Twenty Seven**

I left salon feeling refreshed and more than a little amused by Pat's request. I told her that I'd ask Nacht, but that I couldn't make any promises. When I told Ruthie about it in Shrevvy's cab they both laughed.  
  
"Jeez Boss, somebody that's just as crazy with th'suicidal tendencies as you are."   
  
"Moe, I'm not suicidal. I really do not want to die. It just seems that way because most people can't do what I can do."  
  
"Truth," Ruthie said. "I have never seen anybody heal up as fast as you Betty."  
  
"Like I said, I am a special snowflake."  
  
They both laughed. After dropping Ruthie off we headed back to the warehouse where I got dressed up as Morgan. I had asked Pat for some better wig caps so I wouldn't destroy my new 'do and she had given me six. Going over to the weapon's locker I pulled out a jo stick, the pump shotgun and scabbard I had liberated from Too-Tall's place, some throwing knives, and a pair of trench knives. This along with my Colt would do for Morgan's weaponry.  
  
Moe had watched me arming up and shook his head sadly, "In my day, the young lady would be dressin' for a dance after th' beauty shop...not a war."  
  
"Think of these as accessorizing for a particularly violent Lindy Hop."  
  
Moe shook his head again, "Try not t'get yerself all bloody again....Please?"  
  
"I'll try Shrevvy. I don't want Maggie mad at me."  
  
"Smart lady. Ya ready?"  
  
"Yeah, let's go check out a warehouse," I slipped on my smoked glasses and wrapped the black scarf around the lower half of my face before hopping into Moe's cab.  
  
  
It was run down which was expected, and it had people watching it which made it more likely that this was where stuff was happening. I had Moe drive past it and go about five more blocks before turning on to a side street and dropping me off.  
  
The last time I had run up against these guys it had been night and I had gone in by the rooftops. Time to change it up. It was about two in the afternoon on a slushy cold gray December day. Nobody outside would be happy and most, no matter how well trained, would be extremely bored.  
  
I kept my hands in my pockets and walked as though I was in a great hurry. When I came alongside the main entrance, I quickly turned to face it and yanked it open. It was locked of course, but the rotten wood of the door jam splintered nicely. I'm sure the watchers across the street were surprised , the guard inside sure was. I smashed his head into the wall and stepped over his body then jumped and swung up into the overhead iron roof beams.  
  
There were several shouts at the banging of the door and the smacking of the skull sounds, but at the moment people weren't sure what had happened. I tucked in close the eaves and watched. Out of the second floor mezzanine offices the Mister Boss stepped out. He was in purple and gold silk today and he made it look really elegant not trashy. Even in the gloomy lighting I could tell he was not happy.  
  
He started calling off orders in Chinese and then Arabic. "Guard the doors! As I said, he has returned!"  
  
I really wasn't all that surprised to be expected to show up, but it's nice to feel appreciated.  
  
The Chinese in suits moved to positions on the mezzanine; all of them had crossbows. Interesting choice. The Filipino looking guys, maybe they were Malaysian?...Took positions at the doors, and the Assassins started searching for me. The entire center area was filled by the machine and it looked like he had still not added fuses to the circuit or at least there wasn't stuff where the Professor said the fuses should be.  
  
The Assassins looked what they were doing with their searching I was tucked away in the shadows, but eventually I was pretty sure they would spot me. Mountain to Muhammad time I guessed.  
  
I dropped on one the searchers, knocking him to the floor, while poking his partner in the gut with the jo stick and kicking his feet out from under him. He hit the floor too with a thump. I scooped up their swords and checked the balance. They were a nice pair of thin bladed scimitars. I dropped the jo stick and grinned behind my scarf. The second pair had just arrived, probably to see what caused the thump. I sidekicked one into the other then pommel struck him in the face. We were behind a stack of crates and the warehouse was echoing with the shouts of the searchers so I wasn't too worried about being interrupted. The guy I had kicked him into was getting ready to shout, so he got a pommel sandwich too.  
  
I started to move around the perimeter staying well clear of the doors. By the time I made my first circuit I had cleared away 12 Assassin teams. The hardest part had been staying out of line of sight of the snipers up above.  
  
The next circuit was all about dealing with the door guards. They were really jumpy since the search teams had stopped making any noise. I thought about cutting my losses and just setting fire to the place, but I didn't want to take the risk that it would spread. Maybe I should handle the snipers next?  
  
There were only about twenty snipers and over forty of the others and I really couldn't take the risk of getting tagged by a bolt while in the middle of a brawl. Snipers it was then.  
  
The first step was getting up to the mezzanine without getting perforated. Unlike the Rose of Italy, here I had plenty of cover and enough room to dodge. I needed every bit of it as I rolled and twisted from the cacophony of sproings. I took the opportunity of their reloading to draw my Colt and fire a few rounds to get some of them to duck. When I arrived on the their level I holstered the pistol and drew the trench knives. They were the Mark 1s with the heavy hand guard and the skull cracker pommel. I held one in ice pick and the other in regular grip and slashed the first bow string while punching the shooter in the face. I felt bones break from the hit and he went slack so I moved along. The second tried snap shooting but I sidestepped and the bolt whizzed by. I didn't miss and probably cracked a few of his ribs from the leaping knee to the chest. I then grabbed his shoulders and headbutted him.  
  
"You are not the same!" Mister Boss called out.  
  
"The same as what?" like I didn't already know.  
  
"You are not Nacht!"  
  
"I hope not!" I leaping dropped kicked a sniper and batted a bolt out of the air that was headed towards my face. "He's taller and a lot more male than I am."  
  
"Who are you that interferes with my works?"  
  
"My name is Morgan...and you?" I blocked a jian sword with one of my blades then split the swordsman's lip with an elbow smash that also sent him flying over the railing and into a two-story freefall.  
  
"My name is none of your affair. Neither is my business here." He hadn't moved from his place since I entered the building. "If you leave now, you will not die at my servants' hands."  
  
"Which servants would those be? The trail of bodies I'm leaving behind?"  
  
"Not only a foolish European, but a pitiful woman as well. There is no possible way you can escape. The doors are all guarded as well as the roof. There is nowhere for you to flee."  
  
I dragon tail swept another sniper. The guys on the doors seemed to be perfectly happy to stay at their positions. Probably after they saw the second or third guy go sailing off the mezzanine.  
  
"Huh, that might matter if I was planning on escaping you know," Whee! another sniper went flying. A bolt nicked my coat and I saw the arrowhead was glistening, "and even poison arrows. You do me great honor."  
  
"You are moderately well skilled perhaps...." he said grudgingly.  
  
"That's better. A lady likes to be recognized for her gifts as well as her looks."  
  
"Europeans," he said in a disgusted tone. "Always concerned about appearances."  
  
"Somehow I don't think we'll become friends," I replied. I had removed over half his guys on the upper level from combat, but now they were starting to bunch up. One at a time they were no problem, as I had been demonstrating, but in a group they could be trouble. They all looked like skilled fighters at least.  
  
"No...who do you work for?"  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Perhaps I can pay more?"  
  
"I'm not a mercenary in the classical sense I'm afraid. Besides Nacht would be kind of upset if I started working with his opposition."  
  
"So you do work for the German?"  
  
"Never said I didn't." the two on one fight I was in was not easy. I finally had to pin one guy to the floor by stabbing through the toe of his shoe and probably his toes as well, before I could drop his partner. "I have to admit he doesn't dress half as well as you do though. Very few people can make that color combination work."  
  
  
There were four in the last group. I stepped in as they were readying an assortment of blades and clubs and grabbed the closest's near sleeve while guiding his opposite foot with mine and hanging on to his back shoulder, he went sailing through the air in a full power yoko gake rear sacrifice throw. I got good hang time off of him too. I rolled to my feet with the accumulated momentum and dropped into a ready stance as my recent partner crashed into the brick warehouse wall.  
  
"That is an impressive display of martial skill. I had not realized there were any European female judoka at that level.  
  
"Thank you. I think I'm the only one around actually. Nacht is a really good teacher," I went for a wrist lock, switched it to a disarm now I had a short heavy club, and the guy who had had it now owned a club shaped dent on the side of his head.  
  
One of the two remaining got a leaping bicycle kick as I ran up his torso and I elbow dropped the last one. I had more than a few bruises and a bloody nose, but I'd live and I hadn't broken anything of mine yet.  
  
"Hmm," I wondered out loud. "These guys up here were your personal guards I'd guess. The Ḥashshāshīn are your thieves and killers, and the other guys downstairs are the ones who lift stuff and move it around. I bet I can just carve through those guys if I had to."  
  
"Very astute."  
  
"You're going to give me a swelled head...Anyway, there's now nobody protecting you from me."  
  
"Apparently."  
  
I never liked that word.  
  
From out of one of the offices came a huge slab of meat impersonating a human. He was taller than Savage and as wide as Monk.  
  
"This is Wong Ho. Wong Ho, Huǐle tā."  
  
The slab started heading my way. I started to draw my Colt, "I would not do that. If you use a firearm I will activate the device and a random building within 12 li will simply disappear," Mister Boss had an unbelievably smug look on his face. I sighed and shrugged off my coat and shoulder holster. With what the Professor had told me about its possible blow-up-ability, there was no way I was going to take the risk of having him activate it.  
  
"So how did you find out about it?" I stretched my shoulders and arms out as I waited for the slab to arrive. "That device I mean," I gestured at the hardware on the floor.  
  
"I know a great many things thought lost by the west. This is the Chinese Century after all, and I mean to show it."  
  
"By vaporizing parts of Manhattan?" the slab had stopped and was eyeing me. He didn't feel like a demon but he had muscles on top of his muscles. Just from his sheer mass of flesh, even getting a shot through to a vital area was going to be rough.  
  
"A feeble and worthless attempt at playing at civilization. That is all this pig farm is. Not even worthy of remembrance when it is gone."  
  
"Ouch. You still had to get the circuit off the urn though. You may have known about it, but you didn't know all about it."  
  
He flinched subtly and his smug look faded a bit, "True enough. But the urn had sat for years unknown and unrecognized for the true treasure it was, until I released its potential."  
  
The slab had come to some sort of decision. I thought he was trying to figure out which way to carve me into bite size snacks and decided pulled Morgan was the taste treat of the day. He came closer. His reach was unbelievable and his stance got his center of gravity down to a dangerously stable height.  
  
"So what do you feed this Wong Ho?"  
  
"Whatever he desires along with a special formulation of my own devising. Impressive isn't he?"  
  
"You could say that," I was mentally running through my repertoire of tricks. I was probably faster and stronger. He had reach and size and augmented durability I'd guess. The scars along his lower ribs and back indicated he'd had some surgical work done. "I would first go with terrifying though."  
  
Mister Boss laughed, it was a nasty high pitched cackle, "You are droll, even when you are about to die."  
  
"Well," I sighed, I'm not all that easy to kill you see." I stepped forward and as expected the slab came at me. That was his first mistake. The second was his attempt to grab. I got his arm folded up in an aikido katate-dore shihōnage throw. The slab was suddenly surprised to find that his grabbing hand was now folded past his shoulder and that I was using mechanical advantage to hold it there as I walked him into the ground.  
  
I could tell slab and Mister Boss were surprised by this technique. Probably because it had been invented less than six years ago and I wasn't sure if there was anybody outside of Japan who even knew what aikido was. I released the slab and easily stepped over his swing from the ground.  
  
"Very interesting."  
  
"Oh that? Something I picked up off the streets."  
  
"I seriously doubt that. Did your employer instruct you in that form as well?"  
  
"Maybe?" I casually turned my back on the slab to talk to Mister Boss. His swing was quiet, but I felt the air move and ducking, reached up and guided him past me and into a post. The punch cracked the heavy beam and maybe one of the slab's knuckles.  
  
"Ooo, that must hurt," I winced as I assisted the raging side of beef into hitting the post with his face. The beam splintered, his face didn't. He stepped back, shook his head, and calmed down. He was a smart fighter which meant this was going to get even harder.  
  
He launched a barrage of punches and kicks aiming high and low. I was able to redirect all but a last sneaky side kick that caught me in the hip and sent me skidding across the floor. I tumbled out of it and was on my feet in time to start attempting to block a charging small building.  
  
He was unbelievably strong and way faster than somebody his size should be and didn't seem to really feel pain. He could kill me quite easily if I made any mistakes. Time to cheat. As I did another high block, I slipped one of the long pins that helped hold my wig on out, and concealed it in my hand. Launching an open palm strike to his chest with my other hand I pulled the blow to a normal human level.  
  
I hit but there was no real damage, and I kept blocking like mad. I just needed him to relax his guard a little. I made sure I was audibly panting.  
  
"Tiring so soon? Well you did neutralize quite a few of my men. For someone your size that speaks well of your instructors diligence...That a woman could do so well is quite remarkable."  
  
I rolled my eyes and let the slab hit me again. He caught me in the upper chest and I went flying. He probably had some kind of implants in his knuckles judging by the complete lack of flex. As I rolled out of the way and attempted to catch my breath, Mister Boss was making tsk tsking noises.  
  
"A pity. A young lady such as yourself should never get involved in men's work."  
  
Oh really? I heaved myself off of the floor and dodged a flying crate. Slipping inside the slab's reach I jumped up and slapped his face. The six inch long spring steel pin that was gripped between my middle and ring fingers went right into his eye.  
  
I have never heard a sound like the bellow/scream of pain the slab cut loose with before. I pushed in and the pin traveled right through the back of the eye socket and into his brain. He started flailing and whipping his arms around. I kicked off his chest and landed in crouch as his body started to realize he was a dead man standing.  
  
"What!?!"  
  
"Oops?" I had landed next to my discarded coat and holster, and with a single action I drew and fired. Mister Boss saw the move and reached for the control I had spent the fight looking for...and which I was now aiming at. It blew apart right as his hand almost touched it and a fountain of sparks erupted.  
  
Give me some credit, I'm not an idiot.  
  
I heard a high pitched whine building up and shifted my aim to the same place I had shot the machine up before. Emptying my magazine into the cable join, there were soon sparks and explosions and I figured it was now time to leave. Mister Boss had already escaped so I picked up the shotgun and started shooting other random components. Hey, it couldn't hurt...except maybe me. There was a sudden burst of lightning bolts from what the Professor had described as the condenser bank and my perch on the mezzanine didn't seem so safe anymore. Reloading my Colt I fired through the dingy skylight above me, and swinging up on the beam leaped up on to the roof. As I suspected, the guys on top had been kind of distracted by the explosions and lightning and were really not expecting an annoyed masked hero as well. Well, hero support technically.  
  
I just shot them as the slab had battered me pretty good. Then I was running across the roof tops to where I had left Shrevvy.  
  
I slipped in and he saw my askew wig and heavy breathing.  
  
"Hot date?"  
  
"Just get me home..." I sighed.

**Chapter Twenty Eight**

The mysterious fire and bolts of lightning that flattened the warehouse were front page news for the late editions. Apparently the FBI and Clark Savage and his associates had the situation well in hand.  
  
I had wiped down all my ammunition and weaponry and always wore gloves while reloading so I was pretty sure there was no fingerprints left lying around. All that watching CSI did pay off after all. If I could evade what advance tech forensics was looking for, in this time frame, even with Savage breaking the rules, it would hard to catch me on evidence.  
  
I leaned back in my armchair and drank my coffee. I had taken a bath and stretched, but I was still pumped up. I got dressed up as Mona and headed for the Empire State Building. I don't know the real reason why, but the excuse I gave myself was that Nacht needed to know what Savage had found at the warehouse. I bundled up the urn which I had reclaimed from the Professor's suite as well. It had to get back to the museum somehow.  
  
The really tall guy with big hands...Renwick? was in the reception room. He was examining a set of blueprints and was making meticulous notes on the margins.  
  
"Mister Renwick right?"  
  
He looked up at me with a sad expression, "Miss Del Rio. Doc isn't expecting you is he?"  
  
"No. I have something for him though." I indicated the wrapped urn.  
  
"Hold on," he picked up a phone handset and pressed a button.   
  
"Thank you Mister Renwick."  
  
"Just Renny is fine."  
  
"Then call me Mona."  
  
He nodded, "Hey Doc. Mona Del Rio is here with something for you. The telltales didn't spark so....Sure I'll bring her back." He hung up the phone and recapped his fountain pen, before showing me out through a third door in the reception area.  
  
"Don't you guys have a secretary or receptionist?" I asked.  
  
"We have on occasion. Most of them quit because of the potential danger though. People like attacking Doc here for some reason."  
  
"On his home turf? That's just dumb."  
  
Renny nodded, "Nobody ever said crooks were smart."  
  
I just nodded. Savage was in the lab poking at melted chunks of lightning gun.  
  
"Miss Del Rio. I presume your employer as involved in this?"  
  
"Not according to the papers Mister Savage."  
  
He gave me a questioning look, "There were reports of a woman involved. Dark haired and wearing a man's black suit. She escaped across the roofs."  
  
"I do personal meetings not fight. Nacht has...others that can do that better than me."  
  
"And he does not appear in the daytime?"  
  
"Sunlight hurts his skin apparently."  
  
"Really," Savage said that as dispassionately as he said most things. "What is that?" he gestured at the urn.  
  
"The thing that started this up for my employer."  
  
He picked up the urn and examined it, "Perso-Arabic script..."  
  
"It's written in Middle Persian apparently," I added.  
  
"Can you read it?"  
  
I shook my head, "I know what it says though. Nacht's language guy told me. 'The power of Angra Mainyu is contained by the blessings of Ahuru Mazda. Only those that can view through the lens of Atar...' whatever that means. "  
  
"How many employees does Nacht have?" Renny asked.  
  
I shrugged, "Lots I guess. He knows people everywhere."  
  
"And he doesn't mind you talking about them?"  
  
"And tell you what? We don't use real names, and he's the only one who knows everybody. I've only met a very few of my co-workers face to face. A couple of women and the language guy and a mute that drives Nacht around. I get told what I need to know when I need to know it. Today I got a message saying to guy to a hotel room, pick this up and bring it to Mister Savage. Also I was supposed to tell you," I turned to face Savage, "You're welcome. And ask you what you found in the wreckage. Like who made that lightning gun?"  
  
"You know what it is?"  
  
"Well yeah. I mean the circuit diagram is on the urn here...Didn't you know that's why it was stolen?"  
  
Savage looked slightly and subtly miffed. Winding him up by being helpful was really entertaining. "How did you know?"  
  
I rolled my eyes behind my glasses, "You'd have to ask Nacht that. He's the brains. I'm the executive assistant maybe...one of several I think."  
  
"That throw you used on me. Did he teach you that?"  
  
"No. I wasn't born around here."  
  
"I see."  
  
I simpered slightly. "Now can you guess my age and my measurements?"  
  
He actually blushed at that and looked away and back at the wreckage, "I must get back to work Miss Del Rio."  
  
"I understand Mister Savage. Renny, will you walk me out?"  
  
The huge sad-faced man escorted me to the elevator, "You're an odd one Mona."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"I've never see a woman toy with Doc like you do. Like he doesn't awe you at all."  
  
I shrugged, "I've seen scarier men, women, and others. After a certain point..."I shrugged again.  
  
"Others? What do you mean oth..." it was cut off as the elevator door closed and I headed to the lobby.

**Chapter Twenty Nine**

I left the Empire State Building grinning, then caught a cab up to Ruthie's.  
  
"Yes ma'am?" the guy at the door, I think his name was Alfonso or Alonzo, said politely,  
"Can I help you?"  
  
I handed him one of Nacht's cards, "I'm here to see her."  
  
"Yes ma'am, right this way. She's with a guest right now though."  
  
"That's alright Al..."  
  
"Alfonso ma'am."  
  
"Alfonso and please, you can call me Mona."  
  
"You're Miss Del Rio? You definitely get the red carpet treatment. You know she likes your boss."  
  
"I think he likes her too," I said with a smile. "Can I wait in the bar?"  
  
"Sure. She said if one of Nacht's people shows up, to be hospitable. I gotta warn you though. You may get mistaken for a hostess."  
  
"Given Ruthie's standards, that would be a compliment."  
  
"So true. Well, right this way then."  
  
I had never really entered Ruthie's place through the front door and what I saw was a combination of tacky and luxurious. Velvet and gold everywhere.  
  
"It's somethin' else ain't it?" Alfonso asked.  
  
"You got that right," it was a little after nine, and there were a number of well dressed men chatting with some absolutely beautiful women. I saw Du Mei talking to a guy in his sixties and smiling and laughing. There were a couple of men playing pool with a few of the hostesses in the smoking lounge and few large well-dressed men stood in alcoves and loomed. They were probably the bodyguards of some of the clients.  
  
"Any trouble since the boss got brought in?" I asked.  
  
"Nope. It's been quiet. Word on the street is that your boss will put the hurt down on anybody who messes with our boss."  
  
"That's true enough. Nacht says he owes Ruthie a lot. I could see him getting a little upset with anybody who harassed her or this club."  
  
"I saw him fight on the street against Fats' gunmen. Man that was brutal."  
  
"I'm sorry I missed seeing that. Well thanks for the escorting Alfonso. I'm sure we'll see each other again."  
  
"No problem," he looked over at the bartender, "Lucas, This is Miss Del Rio and she gets comped on everything. Her orders." He glanced up at the ceiling.  
  
"Gotcha Al. So what can I get for ya?"  
  
"A glass of red wine would be nice."  
  
"Sure any vintage in particular?"  
  
"No whatever is decent is fine. I'll take your recommendation."  
  
"Not a problem Miss Del Rio, how about some of this 1929 Latour?"  
  
"Just Mona please. I'm not Miss Del Rio to people I like."  
  
"I hear that," Lucas poured me a glass of some of the best tasting wine I'd ever had, "Ruthie keeps some bottles of this for high roller types. I guess you qualify."  
  
"I don't know about that..." a number of the men here were definitely looking at me, I noticed.  
  
"You want me to get you a private room so you're not bothered?"  
  
"No, I'm fine. Ignoring dogs is a skill I learned early."  
  
"Come now Miss, not all of us men are dogs," the man standing next to me at the bar was tall, over six foot easily, and handsome with a thin mustache and light brown eyes. He spoke with a light accent and had a great smile.  
  
"Didn't your mother tell you it's not polite to eavesdrop?"  
  
"Well Miss Del Rio, notice I did not use 'Mona'. It's not eavesdropping if you're standing next to somebody that's talking loud enough."  
  
I had to agree with that. Not like I hadn't used that exact same justification many times in the past.  
  
"Mister Flynn, another scotch and soda?"  
  
"Actually yes. I got into town late and there's nothing on my schedule."  
  
"Flynn?" I recognized the face now, "Oh my god!" I had enough control not to yell.  
  
"I see you may have heard of me? Well not all the rumors are true. Sadly most of the best ones aren't..." he put on a crestfallen face.  
  
"I'm a huge fan of yours."  
  
"I'm glad somebody likes me," he grinned. "So, since you're a fan, can I call you Mona? In return you can call me Errol or tell me to go to hell. I'm fine with either."  
  
"You are like your reputation."  
  
"I try."  
  
Lucas had poured Errol his drink, "There you go Mister Flynn."  
  
"Damn it Lucas! I keep telling you to call me Errol or Rolly or hey you. I in no way or fashion possess the respectability of a 'Mister'...and neither do most of the other 'gentlemen' here. You and the rest of the staff are the only ones true to your ethics and moral codes."  
  
Both Lucas and I laughed at that.  
  
"Okay Captain Blood, you can call me Mona."  
  
"Oh so you liked that little picture of mine? Livvy and I had great fun making it. Except for that beast of a director. Curtiz can just go to hell."  
  
"I was amazed at your fencing skills."  
  
"Just acting. You want a real swordsman you really need to talk to Basil. He is far better than I ever will be. So you know I'm a professional buffoon., what do you do? I don't believe this is your workplace."  
  
"I'm a personal assistant for a very eccentric man."  
  
"And now he has a slip of a maid functioning as his procurer? The gall of the man. Where is he? I shall thrash him soundly."  
  
I laughed and so did Lucas. The bartender answered first, "Oh no Mister Flynn, her boss is a friend of Ruthie's. He helped get some gangsters from harassin' her sir."  
  
"And how did he manage that trick?"  
  
"He beat th'holy smokin' hell out of them. Three upstairs includin' their boss and six more outside. Most of them in hand to hand. There were bodies scattered all over. And he's a really spooky guy too."  
  
"Really?" Flynn sounded curious, "What's his name?"  
  
"Nacht," I said.  
  
"You work for one of this city's masked marauders?"  
  
I nodded.  
  
"I will hold your compliment on my sword work in high esteem then. Would it be possible to have dinner with the man? I honestly would like to meet him. It would be completely private of course. I don't spread secrets. It would be truly hypocritical of me to."  
  
"I'll ask him," at that moment one of Ruthie's security guys walked over.  
  
"Miss Del Rio, she's ready to see you."  
  
"Thanks for the conversation Lucas...and you too Captain."  
  
"Of course Mona. I'm at the Waldorf," Errol went back to his drink.  
  
I headed upstairs. Ruthie was in the shower as I entered, "Help yourself to a drink Mona!" she called out. "And mix me a gin and tonic!" I poured myself a club soda from her small bar and prepped hers.  
  
A minute later she stepped out wrapped in a towel.  
  
"The personal touch was needed?" I said as I handed her drink.  
  
"Some clients will pay premium for top of line. Who am I to deny them?" she took a sip. "That said, some would never have the cash needed to get a glass of water at the bar no matter how rich they are...My House, my rules."  
  
"Sounds good to me."  
  
"What brings you up this way and through the front door for a change?" Ruthie grinned.  
  
"Thought I'd see what it was like to act like normal people."  
  
"And?"  
  
"You have a nice place here."  
  
"Why thank you, I like it. Any of the guests bother you?"  
  
"No actually. I had a nice chat with Errol Flynn though."  
  
"Errol's here? Did he behave himself?"  
  
"He was actually a gentleman."  
  
"Don't let his Hollywood act fool you. He's a pretty tough guy. He's not actually Irish you know, He's really from somewhere in Australia."  
  
"Tough guy like a mobster?"  
  
"No Betty, more like a professional scoundrel before he became an actor. Ask him about the jobs he's done sometime."  
  
"I just might. He's asked me to ask Nacht to dinner you know?"  
  
Ruthie laughed, "Oh and will Mona or Nacht attend?"  
  
"I'm not sure yet."  
  
"One thing he is, is trustworthy about important things. Not money or being on time of course. Could you hand me that robe?" she pointed at a gorgeous red silk wrap.  
  
I got up and handed it to her as her towel dropped to the floor, "I feel malnourished standing next to you Ruth."  
  
"Yeah? But you find it a lot easier to find off the rack stuff that fits. Try having to find size fifteen and a half women's pumps...and, I do not have the most delicate of physiques."  
  
I had to nod in agreement, "But you are so gorgeous."  
  
"Why thank you Betty," she sat down on her overstuffed sofa and folded her legs under her, "What really brought you up here?"  
  
"Found the guys Du Mei was talking about. If they're smart they'll have left the city by now."  
  
"I'll let her know it was useful."  
  
"Thanks Ruth. Also I may have started a war in the Five Families..."

**Chapter Thirty**

"You took the Commission for how much!?!"  
  
Ruthie didn't look well after I might have mentioned the scale of the theft. Kind of pale and faint actually.  
  
"Uhm...about two and a half million."  
  
"Have you thought about what they're going to do to you?"  
  
"Well yes. If they catch me...and that's a pretty big if because they already have a pair of suspects with their evidence all leading back to, including transatlantic call logs showing two calls from Switzerland to Frank Costello."  
  
"Jesus..."Ruthie sagged on her sofa so I reached over and patted her hand.  
  
"It's okay Ruth. I wouldn't have tried something like this without thinking it through. I even made sure that the taxes got paid, so the US Government doesn't get snippy."  
  
"Who paid them?"  
  
"Miss Sylvia Smith of course. Sadly she's not getting a return this year, but she did pay Uncle Sam his cut when she made her withdrawals."  
  
"How many identities do you have?"  
  
"At least fifteen at the moment. When I got to town, I decided to get as many set up as I could. Took a lot of cash too. That's not counting Nacht, Mona, or Morgan of course. They're complete phantoms."  
  
"What is your real name Betty?"  
  
"Betty is what I use the most. It's not that I don't trust you, because god knows I do Ruthie. It's just that I've kind of taken a break from my past until I can get back to my home."  
  
"Where are you from?"  
  
"I can't tell you I'm afraid. It could cause some bad stuff to happen if my arrival here got out. Just think of me as an cautionary tale that's real."  
  
"Cautionary for who?"  
  
"Monsters of course. These days they do tend to be human. As for before...let's just say some fairy tales and ghost stories may have a backing in fact."  
  
"You're giving me the frights now Betty."  
  
"I'm sorry. Really I am. You've become one of the few friends I've got here."  
  
"You're kidding?"  
  
I shook my head, "You, Moe, Professor Tesla, and Harry. That's about it."  
  
"Damn that's tough."  
  
"You're telling me. Also, you're the only four people that know I'm really Nacht. I may have some trust issues, or so I've been told," I finished off my club soda.  
  
She wrapped her arms around me and gave me a hug.  
  
"Don't worry Betty...you do have some friends here..."  
  
I sighed and thought about the love of my life..."I'll get home Willow. Have faith in your Ken-doll..."  
  
  
**a/n**  
  
Kennedy may have been a 'bit of a brat' but she was tough, smart, and adaptable. Ken has been a Slayer for the last 7 years and always struck me as an A-type personality. She would be the kind of person to work her ass off to be better than Buffy or Faith. People may also have noticed the lack of Buffy-speak and the lack of distaste with guns or killing.   
  
Stay tuned for the next episode...

  
**Nacht and the Desperate City!!!  
Just .10 at your local Newsagent's!**

 


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